LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

Class 


REMINISCENCES  OF  AN 
ATHLETE 


REMINISCENCES  OF  AN 
ATHLETE 

TWENTY  YEARS  ON  TRACK 
AND  FIELD 

BY 

ELLERY  H.  CLARK 

All-around  Athletic  Champion  of  America,  1897,  1903 

All-around  Athletic  Champion  of  New  England, 

1896,  1897,  1909,  1910 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


1911 


COPYRIGHT,  igil,  BY  ELLERY  H.  CLARK 

-! 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 

r  V          *t> 

Published  April  IQII 


TO  MY  SON 
ELLERY  H.  CLARK,  JR. 


226674 


CONTENTS 

I.  EARLY  MEMORIES 1 

IT.  COLLEGE   DAYS  —  FAILURE   AND    SUCCESS    27 

in.  COLLEGE  DAYS  —  HEROES  PAST  AND  PRES- 
ENT—  THE  RUNNERS 52 

IV.  COLLEGE  DAYS  —  HEROES  PAST  AND  PRES- 

ENT—  THE    HURDLERS,    JUMPERS,    AND 
WEIGHT-THROWERS 76 

V.  THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP  ....  100 

VI.  THE  OLYMPIC  GAMES  OF  1896       .    .    .    .124 
VII.  THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP  AGAIN   .  142 

VIH.  RANDOM  MEMORIES 163 

POSTSCRIPT 183 

INDEX     ....  .  185 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

ELLERT  H.  CLARK Frontispiece 

JAMES  S.  MITCHELL 10 

GEORGE  R.  GRAY       24 

THOMAS  P.  CONNEFF 40 

ALVIN  C.  KRAENZLEIN 58 

RALPH  C.  CRAIG 66 

JOHN  GARRELS       78 

MICHAEL  F.  SWEENEY .    88 

WALTER  R.  DRAY 98 

MALCOLM  W.  FORD 104 

JOHN  FLANAGAN 114 

FORREST  C.  SMITHSON 128 

THOMAS  E.  BURKE 136 

MARTIN  J.  SHERIDAN 160 

WEFERS  AND  KILPATRICK .  170 

RALPH  ROSE 178 

The  illustrations  at  pages  10,  24,  40,  58,  88,  104,  and  136  are  from 
photographs  by  Heinment,  N.  Y. ;  the  other  illustrations  are  from 
photographs  by  The  Pictorial  News  Co.,  N.  Y. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  AN 
ATHLETE 

CHAPTER  I 

EARLY  MEMORIES 

I  CANNOT  remember  the  time  when  I  was  not 
interested  in  sport.  There  was  no  form  of 
exercise  which  did  not  appeal  to  me,  and  this 
whether  I  took  part  myself,  or,  as  a  mere 
spectator,  applauded  the  performance  of 
others.  To  run  fast  or  enduringly,  to  leap 
high  or  far,  these  had,  for  me,  the  savor  of 
great  deeds;  and  upon  those  who  did  them 
worthily,  I  gazed  with  awe,  as  upon  beings  of 
a  superior  world. 

I  am  sure  of  the  facts,  yet  when  I  look  back 
and  seek  to  find  the  reasons  for  them,  I  can 
scarcely  seem  to  hit  upon  the  cause.  I  was  not 
reared  in  an  athletic  atmosphere;  there  were 
no  family  traditions  to  be  maintained.  It  was, 
I  think,  simply  a  natural  bent;  the  germ  of  the 
athletic  fever  was  in  my  blood. 

Stevenson  has  told  us  how  he  learned  to 
write,  not  so  much  because  he  wished  to  be  an 


'^REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

author,  although  he  wished  that  too,  but 
principally,  as  it  were,  "in  a  wager  with  him- 
self." And  thus  my  own  ambition,  though  a 
far  less  noble  one,  was  in  kind  the  same.  I 
wished  to  be  an  athlete,  yet  it  was  not  for  the 
sake  of  the  medals  or  the  glory,  although,  to 
borrow  Stevenson's  phrase,  perhaps  "I  wished 
that  too."  But  my  main  incentive,  like  his, 
was  a  wager  with  myself.  There  was  much 
that  I  aimed  to  acquire,  yet  it  was  not  to  excel 
others  that  I  practised  and  trained.  A  certain 
standard  of  accomplishment  was  always  before 
me;  and  to  know,  in  my  own  heart,  that  I  had 
attained  it  —  that  was  my  desire. 

I  had  two  playmates,  in  these  early  days, 
both  inspired  with  the  same  ambition  as  my- 
self. The  result  was  a  union  of  forces,  and  while 
all  Boston  knows  that  its  athletic  club,  the 
B.  A.  A.,  was  formed  in  1887,  how  many  Bos- 
tonians,  I  wonder,  though  skilled  in  local 
history,  know  that  before  this  there  was  a 
B.  A.  C.,  which  flourished  in  1881,  and  a  year 
or  so  later  languished  and  died.  Yet  such  was 
the  fact,  for  my  two  friends  and  I  were  its 
founders.  And  although,  as  it  seems  to  me 
now,  scarce  old  enough  to  read  and  write,  we 
had  a  constitution  and  by-laws.  More  than 


EARLY  MEMORIES  3 

that,  we  had  a  club  badge,  <a  little  oblong  of 
crimson  silk,  with  the  letters  B.  A.  C.  embroi- 
dered upon  it  in  gold,  and  a  silver  pin  with 
which  to  fasten  it  to  our  coats.  An  air  of 
mystery,  dear  to  all  small  boys,  surrounded 
us,  and  thus  no  profane  outsider  was  ever  to 
guess  the  existence  of  our  Club.  Except  in 
secret  meeting,  the  order  of  the  letters  was  to 
be  reversed,  and  to  the  ear  of  the  world,  we 
were  to  talk  only  of  the  doings  of  a  certain 
"CAB."  Altogether,  we  were  quite  elaborate, 
and  existed,  as  I  say,  for  upwards  of  a  year. 

Winter  was  the  principal  time  for  our  diver- 
sions. We  played  football  in  the  autumn, 
baseball  in  the  spring,  and  devoted  the  time 
between  to  our  Club.  My  parents  lived  in  a 
tall  house,  opposite  Boston  Common,  and  half 
way  down  the  slope  of  Beacon  Hill.  The  house 
was  deep  and  narrow,  with  long  hallways 
connecting  the  rooms  at  either  end;  and  the 
topmost  story  of  all,  away  up  under  the  big 
skylight,  was  our  gymnasium,  athletic  field  and 
running  track,  all  in  one.  Here,  as  the  fancy 
moved  us,  we  practised  our  different  sports  — 
boxed  and  wrestled,  jumped  and  ran.  How  the 
ceilings  ever  held  is  a  mystery;  and  even  more 
wonderful  still  seems  the  way  in  which  my 


4     REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

parents  contrived  to  stand  the  noise.  They 
endured  it  without  complaint,  and  only  once, 
that  I  recall,  put  a  stop  to  any  of  our  plans. 
That  was  in  the  days  of  the  tug-of-war;  not 
the  good,  old-fashioned  kind  where  the  contest- 
ants, a  dozen  or  more  on  a  side,  pulled  standing 
erect  in  the  open,  but  a  modern  version  of  the 
game,  where  four  men  on  each  team  lay  prone 
upon  the  floor,  feet  braced  against  huge 
wooden  cleats,  and  strained  upon  the  rope 
until  their  faces  purpled  and  the  veins  stood 
out  upon  their  swollen  necks.  We  had  seen  the 
Harvard  teams  in  the  Hemenway  Gymnasium; 
and  so,  of  course,  must  go  forth  and  do  like- 
wise. Our  hallway  appeared  to  us  an  ideal 
place  for  the  practice  of  the  sport.  We  had 
everything  planned  —  the  purchase  of  the 
rope,  the  cleats,  and  all  —  and  then  my  par- 
ents, consulting  the  family  physician,  promptly 
and  very  cruelly  (as  it  seemed  to  us)  vetoed  our 
scheme,  and  the  tug-of-war  was  never  held. 

Of  all  our  varied  pastimes,  one  stands  out 
with  special  clearness  in  my  mind.  That  was 
the  running  high  jump.  Later  in  our  careers, 
we  were  to  have  a  regular  set  of  jumping  stand- 
ards, and  a  cross-bar  as  well;  but  when  our 
club  was  founded,  such  luxuries  were  far  be- 


EARLY  MEMORIES  5 

yond  our  means.  And  yet  we  did  not  lack  in- 
ventiveness. Two  chairs,  placed  on  either  side 
of  the  hall,  were  our  standards,  and  a  broom 
from  the  dusting  closet  served  us  as  a  bar.  So 
far,  so  good;  yet  the  problem  of  raising  and 
lowering  our  broomstick  still  confronted  us. 
To  a  certain  extent,  to  be  sure,  we  were  aided 
by  the  natural  construction  of  the  chairs.  The 
bar,  supported  on  the  lower  rungs,  formed 
the  obstacle  for  the  first  jump;  the  higher 
rungs  were  next  to  be  achieved;  and  if  these 
were  safely  cleared,  the  broomstick  was  placed 
across  the  seats  themselves.  This  last,  indeed, 
was  a  dizzy  height,  to  be  approached  with 
caution,  with  much  shuffling  of  feet  and  grim 
contortion  of  face,  after  the  manner  of  those 
real  champions  who  were  at  once  our  envy  and 
despair.  Occasionally  one  of  us,  more,  I  think, 
by  luck  than  skill,  would  clear  it,  but  for  the 
most  part  we  would  fail,  with  much  damage 
to  knees  and  shins;  and  thus,  for  a  year  or 
more,  we  were  untroubled  by  the  question  of 
farther  heights.  Yet  gradually,  as  we  increased 
in  strength  and  agility,  the  feat  at  which  we 
had  balked  grew  easier  of  accomplishment;  the 
problem  of  raising  the  bar  must  be  met  and 
solved;  and  we  turned,  in  our  perplexity,  to 


6     REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

our  "box  of  blocks,"  banished,  for  the  moment, 
to  the  entry  closet,  as  toys  for  children,  having 
no  place  in  an  athlete's  world. 

I  wonder  if  the  modern  boy  gets  all  the  fun 
that  we  did  from  such  blocks  of  wood.  Ours 
came,  I  remember,  in  an  oblong  cart.  They 
were  part  brown,  part  white;  and  were  in- 
tended, I  suppose,  solely  for  the  construction 
of  houses  and  castles  of  varying  design.  But 
our  imagination  was  not  thus  to  be  circum- 
scribed. It  was  not  alone  a  double  debt  that 
the  blocks  contrived  to  pay,  but  one  fifty  or  a 
hundred  fold.  Indians  and  settlers,  redcoats 
and  continentals,  knights  and  paladins  (I 
never  felt  sure,  I  think,  just  what  a  paladin 
really  was,  but  the  name  echoed  like  music  in 
my  ears),  ships  and- athletes,  wild  beasts  and 
race-horses — Heaven  alone  knows  what  those 
humble  blocks,  at  one  time  and  another,  did 
not  represent.  They  kept  us,  I  am  sure,  out  of 
more  than  a  little  mischief,  and  upon  stormy 
afternoons  were  worth  their  weight  in  gold. 

So  now,  with  more  prosaic  purpose,  it  was 
to  our  blocks  that  we  had  recourse,  and  placing 
them  carefully  under  each  end  of  the  broom- 
stick we  raised  our  bar  triumphantly,  a  block 
at  a  time.  How  I  wish  that  I  had  the  records 


EARLY  MEMORIES  7 

of  those  early  meets  to-day!  How  I  should  like 
to  look  back  at  them,  and  see,  at  seven,  eight 
and  nine  years  of  age,  what  heights  we  really 
cleared!  Alas!  Our  score-sheets,  with  the 
badges,  the  constitution  and  the  by-laws,  have 
vanished  forever;  treacherous  memofy  is  of  no 
avail,  and  our  records,  like  those  of  the  Olym- 
pic Games  of  old,  are  shrouded  in  impenetrable 
mystery.  A  chair  and  a  block  —  a  chair  and 
two  blocks  —  if  recollection  serves  me  rightly, 
even  three  —  but  of  what  we  accomplished  in 
terms  of  feet  and  inches,  not  a  trace  remains. 

One  other  memory  of  the  long  hallway  comes 
vividly  back  to  me.  Those  were  the  days  of  the 
pedestrians,  and  the  sport  had  culminated  in 
those  tremendous'contestsof  endurance  known, 
in  the  sporting  phrase,  as  the  "six  day  go-as- 
you-please."  There  always  seemed  to  me  a 
kind  of  irony  about  the  name,  for  while  in 
theory  the  participants  were  thus  left  free  to 
follow  any  gait  they  chose,  only  too  frequently, 
as  they  neared  the  end  of  the  struggle,  the 
poor  wretches,  with  dizzy  heads  and  staggering 
limbs,  were  not  only  unable  to  go  as  they 
pleased,  but  were  wholly  unable  to  go  at  all. 

One  of  these  races  was  held  in  Boston.  I 
went  to  see  it  upon  the  opening  day,  and  after 


8      REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

that  again  and  again,  for  it  gripped  me  with 
a  fascination  I  could  not  resist.  I  cannot  re- 
member where  the  contest  was  held,  but  I 
seem  to  recall  a  long,  low  building,  with  a 
board  track  covered  with  sawdust;  the  whole 
tone  of  the  affair  cheap  and  sordid  to  a  degree, 
and  among  the  spectators  the  proper  sporting 
atmosphere  of  much  cheap  tobacco  and  much 
cheaper  slang.  Yet  I  paid  little  heed  to  my 
surroundings;  all  my  interest  was  in  the  racers 
themselves.  Footsore  and  weary,  gaunt  and 
grim,  they  plodded  along;  walking,  running, 
walking  again;  not  stopping  even  to  eat,  but 
snatching  the  food  from  their  trainers'  hands, 
and  devouring  it,  as  they  sped  around  the 
track,  with  no  perceptible  slackening  of  their 
speed.  For  hour  after  hour  they  kept  at  their 
task,  taxing  themselves,  as  it  seemed,  to  the 
very  uttermost  limit;  and  always,  on  the  huge 
score  board  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  their  records 
mounted  higher  and  higher,  lap  after  lap,  mile 
after  mile.  I  can  see  the  whole  scene  now,  as 
if  it  had  been  but  yesterday.  Names,  figures, 
faces;  gestures  and  tricks  of  speech;  one  and  all 
again  come  crowding  to  my  mind.  I  can  see 
Guerrero,  the  swarthy  Mexican,  picturesque 
and  debonair;  Herty  and  Hegelman;  Sullivan, 


EARLY  MEMORIES  9 

with  his  pale  face  and  sunken  cheeks,  and 
"Old  Man"  Taylor,  the  "Pie-eater,"  plod- 
ding wearily  along  at  his  steady  jog,  with 
his  eyes  half-closed  and  his  head  sunk  upon 
his  breast. 

Cheap  and  sordid,  as  I  say,  and  yet  the  les- 
son that  I  learned  there  was  none  the  less  a 
noble  one.  For  I  was  too  young  to  distinguish 
between  amateur  and  professional,  and  the 
commercial  side  of  the  enterprise,  except  as  it 
affected  my  own  pocket,  made  not  the  slightest 
impression  upon  my  mind.  But  the  race  itself 
—  the  struggle  of  courage  and  endurance 
against  hunger,  and  fatigue,  and  physical  dis- 
tress —  struck  me  as  something  magnificent 
and  fine.  And  so  I  must  go  home,  remove  my 
jacket,  knot  a  handkerchief  about  my  waist, 
and  another  (Heaven  knows  why)  about  my 
head,  and  then  walk  and  trot  up  and  down  the 
hallway,  as  seriously  and  with  as  much  deter- 
mination as  if  I  had  been  a  very  champion  of 
champions.  My  imagination,  I  think,  was  at 
least  normally  active  at  the  time,  for  I  can 
remember  placing  a  large,  damp  sponge  upon 
a  chair  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  and  stopping 
every  few  laps  to  breathe  very  loudly,  and  mop 
my  face  until  it  shone;  then,  in  imitation  of 


10    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

one  or  the  other  of  my  heroes,  I  would  start 
away  upon  my  tramp  once  more. 

With  these  faint  memories,  the  sports  of 
childhood,  real  and  imaginary,  fade  from  my 
mind.  And  now,  having  come  to  the  age  of 
fifteen,  I  was  to  make  my  first  real  bow  to  the 
athletes'  world.  The  occasion  was  the  "junior 
sports"  of  my  school;  the  scene  was  the  Read- 
ville  trotting  track;  the  date  May  25,  1889.  A 
faded  and  tattered  programme  lies  beside  me  as 
I  write,  and  many  a  name,  well-known  in  the 
business  world  to-day,  looks  up  at  me  from 
the  printed  page.  Running,  jumping,  throw- 
ing the  baseball,  putting  the  shot  — those  were 
the  events,  some  eight  or  nine  in  all.  For  the 
sake  of  comparison,  I  mention  here  some  of 
the  records  of  the  boys  of  twenty  years  ago. 
The  hundred-yards  dash  was  won  in  11^  sec- 
onds, and  the  half-mile  run  in  2  J  minutes.  The 
shot  weighed  16  pounds ;  24  feet  and  5  inches 
was  the  winning  put.  The  record  for  the  stand- 
ing broad  jump  was  8  feet  4§,  and  for  the  run- 
ning broad  17  feet  10.  The  standing  high  jump 
was  won  at  3  feet  11,  and  the  running  high  at 
4  feet  7j.  And  if  some  of  these  performances, 
to  the  boys  of  to-day,  seem  to  be  lacking  in 
merit,  it  must  be  remembered  that  we  had  no 


JAMES  S.  MITCHELL 


EARLY  MEMORIES  11 

one  to  coach  us,  no  facilities  for  training,  and 
that  our  records  were  thus  made  off-hand, 
without  practice  or  preparation  of  any  kind. 

Of  all  the  boys  who  competed,  I  can  re- 
member the  one  who  stood  forth  preeminent 
as  the  best  performer  of  the  day.  This  was 
Charles  Brewer,  who  was  later  to  play  foot- 
ball at  Harvard  as  a  member  of  the  'Varsity 
team.  I  have  seen  most  of  the  schoolboy 
athletes  since  his  time;  some  of  them,  under 
the  modern  system  of  training,  have  surpassed 
the  records  which  he  made;  but  none,  I  think, 
have  possessed  the  real  ability  to  run  and 
jump  which  seemed  to  be  his  by  nature.  He 
was  a  trifle  above  medium  height,  slender 
rather  than  stocky;  wiry,  lithe  and  active,  with 
plenty  of  spring,  and  as  fleet  of  foot  as  a  deer. 
Even  at  this  time,  he  showed  his  ability  by 
winning  first  in  the  standing  high  and  running 
broad  jumps,  third  in  the  standing  broad,  and 
second  in  the  baseball  and  the  hundred  yards. 
His  record  in  the  running  broad,  17  feet  and  10 
inches,  under  conditions  which  were  none  of 
the  best,  promised  well  for  the  future.  And  a 
year  or  so  later,  indeed,  he  developed  won- 
derfully, and  became  New  England  inter- 
scholastic  champion  at  the  two  hundred  and 


12    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

twenty  yards,  the  broad  jump,  and  the  quarter 
mile.  Moreover,  while  still  at  school,  he  won 
the  quarter-mile  championship  of  all  New  Eng- 
land, and  that,  too,  against  the  pick  of  a  first- 
class  field.  Close  to  50  seconds  for  the  quarter, 
21  feet  and  6  inches  in  the  broad  jump  —  for  a 
schoolboy,  practically  untrained,  these  were 
records  little  short  of  marvelous.  But  on  en- 
tering college,  Brewer  turned  his  attention  to 
football  and  rowing,  and  thereafter  never  again 
competed  with  any  seriousness  upon  the  track. 
His  fleetness  of  foot  served  him  well  upon  the 
football  field,  although  he  hardly  had  the 
weight  and  size  for  an  ideal  football  man. 
Nature  had  designed  him  for  the  highest  hon- 
ors as  a  runner  and  jumper,  and  from  the 
standpoint  of  athletics  I  have  never  ceased 
to  regret  his  retirement  from  the  track.  There 
have  been  many  greater  football  players  than 
Brewer,  but  had  he  devoted  himself  to  his 
specialties,  the  men  who  would  have  excelled 
him  there  might  still  be  numbered,  I  think, 
upon  the  fingers  of  one's  hand. 

Another  of  the  day's  athletes,  who  was  later 
to  become  famous,  was  Charles  J.  Paine,  Jr. 
He  was  tall,  strong,  and  exceptionally  rugged, 
and  could  make  a  showing  at  almost  anything 


EARLY  MEMORIES  13 

he  tried.  But  the  high  jump  was  his  particular 
specialty.  Long  before  he  entered  college,  he 
was  a  first-class  performer,  and  jumped  consist- 
ently in  the  neighborhood  of  6  feet.  But  with 
the  beginning  of  his  college  course,  like  Brewer, 
his  very  versatility  proved  a  hindrance  to  him. 
Baseball  was  his  hobby;  he  became  a  famous 
pitcher,  and  played  for  several  years  upon  the 
'Varsity  team.  Yet  he  was  urgently  needed 
upon  the  track,  as  well,  and  thus  every  year,  a 
few  days  before  the  intercollegiates  and  the 
dual  games  with  Yale,  he  was  granted  a  leave 
of  absence  from  the  nine,  came  out  for  a  day 
or  two's  practice,  and  with  this  scanty  prepara- 
tion, went  into  the  contest  as  if  he  had  been 
training  all  the  spring,  and  never  emerged 
save  with  credit  to  himself.  I  remember  seeing 
him,  on  a  cold. and  rainy  day,  clear  6  feet  and 
over  in  the  dual  games  with  Yale,  and  this 
upon  his  first  attempt,  after  waiting  half  an 
hour  or  more  while  the  others  were  deciding 
a  lengthy  tie  for  second  place.  I  am  confident 
that,  had  he  followed  the  track  instead  of 
devoting  himself  to  baseball,  he  would  have 
cleared  6  feet  2,  perhaps  even  6  feet  3;  and 
the  jumpers  who  achieve  these  heights  are 
still  few  and  far  between. 


14    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

My  own  part  in  the  meet  was  limited  to  the 
standing  high  jump,  where  I  finished  second 
to  Brewer,  and  the  running  high  jump  —  the 
event  we  had  practised  so  assiduously  in  the 
early  days  of  the  B.  A.  C.  I  entered  this  latter 
contest  not  without  hope  of  success,  for  I  had 
jumped  4  feet  and  4  inches  in  practice,  and, 
from  what  I  could  learn  of  the  ability  of  the 
others,  judged  that  this  was  quite  good  enough 
to  win.  Yet  the  pastime  of  reckoning  victory 
and  defeat  beforehand  is  a  somewhat  profitless 
one,  at  best.  There  is  the  danger  of  under- 
rating your  opponents,  and  the  equal  danger  of 
underrating  yourself,  since  in  either  case, 
whatever  the  practice  work  may  have  been, 
the  stress  of  actual  competition  usually  causes 
the  most  unexpected  results.  And  thus,  while 
on  the  day  of  the  sports  I  cleared  the  expected 
4  feet  4,  so  also  did  my  friend  Paine.  In  turn 
we  cleared  4  feet  5,  and  4  feet  6;  and  finally, 
at  4  feet  7j,  I  was  left  the  victor.  Let  no  one 
grudge  me  the  joy  of  thus  recording  my  tri- 
umph, for  though,  in  later  years,  we  were  to 
jump  against  each  other  more  than  once,  our 
positions  were  ever  afterwards  reversed,  and 
strive  as  I  might,  this  victory  over  him  was 
my  first  —  and  last. 


EARLY  MEMORIES  15 

Thus  my  first  trophy  was  won.  I  remember, 
in  passing,  that  our  exchequer  that  year  was 
extremely  low,  and  that  the  whole  matter  of 
prizes  was  most  difficult  of  solution.  At  last 
we  hit  upon  the  expedient  of  procuring,  to 
begin  with,  five-cent  pieces  of  the  current  year. 
Thus  we  had  our  date  already  inscribed,  and 
after  diligent  search,  and  much  unsuccessful 
bargaining,  we  at  length  discovered  a  silver- 
smith, who  agreed,  at  reasonable  expense,  to 
shave  away  the  other  side  of  the  coin,  and  to 
place  upon  it  the  name  of  the  event,  and  of  the 
school.  Since  then,  I  believe,  such  tampering 
with  the  currency  has  been  made  an  indictable 
offense.  I  trust  it  was  not  so  at  the  time.  In 
any  event,  if  we  sinned,  it  was  through  ignor- 
ance, and  the  coin  hangs  in  a  corner  of  my 
medal  case  to-day,  the  first,  and  with  some  few 
exceptions,  the  most  valued,  of  the  trophies 
of  twenty  years. 

And  here  I  would  say  a  word  on  the  whole 
question  of  the  prize,  and  its  importance  to  the 
athlete,  for  it  is  a  subject  on  which  I  believe 
there  is  uttered  a  vast  amount  of  cant.  None 
of  us,  I  suppose,  have  much  sympathy  with 
the  "mug-hunter,"  the  man  who  pursues  cups 
and  medals  for  their  own  sake,  that  he  may 


16    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

hoard  and  treasure  them,  as  a  miser  hoards  his 
gold.  Such  an  ideal  of  sportsmanship  is  so 
wholly  bad  that  we  may  at  once  dismiss  it, 
with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders;  and  yet  there  is 
another  side  to  the  question  as  well.  For  the 
very  fear  and  dread  of  such  a  taint  leads  many 
a  young  man  into  an  utter  disdain  of  the  prize, 
sometimes  real,  more  often,  I  think,  affected, 
but  in  either  case  to  be  deplored.  Athletics 
are,  or  should  be,  a  pleasure  and  a  diversion, 
a  foil  to  the  more  serious  affairs  of  life;  and 
surely,  as  the  years  roll  on,  there  is  not  such  a 
superabundance  of  joy  in  the  world  that  even 
the  most  cheerful  of  us  are  not  sometimes  glad 
to  refresh  ourselves  with  a  glance  backward 
along  the  way.  And  here,  it  is  true,  it  is  the 
bitter  memories  which  are  most  easily  forgot- 
ten, the  happy  ones  which  answer  most  readily 
to  our  call.  Yet  memory  itself,  at  its  best,  is 
not  always  to  be  depended  upon;  and  that 
which  helps  us  to  recall  past  joys,  we  should 
welcome  thankfully,  not  despise  and  set  aside. 
And  thus  the  sight  of  a  cup  or  of  a  medal  may 
bring  to  life  again  whole  days  of  glorious  sun- 
shine, cities  and  towns  in  every  part  of  the 
world,  and  best  of  all,  the  faces  of  our  friends. 
This,  at  least,  is  how  the  matter  presents 


EARLY  MEMORIES  17 

itself  to  me;  as  if  to  scorn  a  reminder  of  past 
happiness  came  somehow  perilously  near  to 
scorning  life  itself.  And  yet  my  view  (strangely 
enough,  we  all  have  this  experience)  is  not  the 
wholly  accepted  one.  Let  me  give  two  illus- 
trations. I  was  talking  one  day  with  an  athlete 
of  rare  distinction,  who  had  competed  for 
years  with  almost  unvarying  success,  and 
whose  name  still  adorns  the  columns  of  the 
record  books.  In  the  course  of  the  conversa- 
tion, I  chanced  to  express  a  desire  to  see  the 
cups  that  he  had  won.  "Cups?"  he  half- 
doubtfully  answered,  "Why,  yes,  I  think  I 
have  got  two  or  three  barrels  of  them  some- 
where. They're  packed  away  in  the  cellar,  I 
believe."  Upon  which  answer  I  make  no  com- 
ment, except  to  wonder  whether  all  the  true 
poetry  and  charm  of  sport  had  ever  fairly 
entered  our  champion's  mind. 

The  second  illustration  is  this.  A  young  man 
had  won  first  place  in  one  of  the  jumping 
events  at  the  intercollegiate  games.  All  the 
next  year,  he  was  prevented  from  training,  but 
at  the  last  moment,  nevertheless,  he  elected  to 
defend  his  title.  Among  his  opponents  were 
two  jumpers  of  exceptional  ability  from  another 
college.  On  the  first  day,  when  the  prelimi- 


18    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

nary  round  was  held,  the  title-holder  was  in  his 
accustomed  form,  qualified  without  effort 
for  the  finals  and  to  all  appearance  had 
every  prospect  of  winning  his  event  for  the 
second  time.  But  on  the  morning  of  the  next 
day,  as  he  told  me  later,  he  knew,  in  the  simple 
act  of  walking  up-stairs,  that  the  exertion  of 
the  preliminaries  had  tired  him,  had  dulled  the 
fine  wire  edge  of  his  muscles,  and  that  the 
spring  and  ease  of  his  jumping  were  gone.  With 
the  coming  of  afternoon,  his  fears  proved  true. 
He  strove  with  every  artifice  in  his  power.  The 
form  of  his  jump  was  as  fine  as  ever;  his 
strength  in  no  wise  diminished;  yet  his  wearied 
muscles  would  not  respond,  and  even  as  he 
cleared  the  lowest  height  of  all,  he  knew  him- 
self foredoomed  to  defeat.  Against  an  ordinary 
field,  indeed,  he  might  still  have  won,  but  not 
with  two  such  jumpers  opposed  to  him,  and 
with  third  place  he  was  forced  to  be  content. 
And  when,  at  the  end  of  the  games,  he  filed 
up  with  the  others  to  receive  his  prize,  he  took 
the  bronze  medal  in  silence,  for  a  moment 
gazed  grimly  down  upon  it,  and  then  drew 
back  his  arm  and  sent  it  hurtling  through 
the  air,  far  over  the  top  of  the  tall  grand- 
stand, where,  for  anything  that  I  know  to 


EARLY  MEMORIES  19 

the  contrary,  it  still  reposes  to  this  day. 
Upon  which  action  I  prefer  to  make  no  com- 
ment at  all,  but  to  leave  the  reader  to  deduce 
the  moral,  or  morals,  of  the  tale,  to  please 
himself. 

Two  other  aspects  of  the  question  of  prizes 
here  present  themselves  to  my  mind.  First, 
the  value  of  the  trophy;  second,  of  what  the 
trophy  itself  should  consist.  In  the  matter  of 
value,  it  is  no  uncommon  thing  to  find  con- 
testants openly  dissatisfied  with  the  prizes 
which  they  have  won,  and  I  have  known  a 
rebellion  among  a  whole  body  of  athletes,  who 
threatened  not  to  compete  at  all,  unless  prizes 
of  a  certain  value  were  promised  them.  The 
principle  underlying  all  this  is  too  obvious  to 
call  for  comment,  though  I  confess  that  if  the 
artistic  merit  of  a  prize  increased  in  proportion 
to  its  value  in  dollars  and  cents,  I  might  sym- 
pathize, to  some  extent,  with  the  rebels,  and 
with  their  demands.  Unfortunately,  however, 
our  national  taste  is  not  yet  a  thing  proven ; 
and  only  too  often,  the  more  money  provided 
the  greater  is  the  opportunity  for  the  designer 
to  magnify  his  errors  upon  a  larger  scale.  I 
have  medals  among  my  collection  —  some, 
indeed,  given  at  championship  meetings  — 


20    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

which  are  positively  an  offense  to  the  eye,— 
gaudy  combinations  of  color,  "fancy"  letter- 
ing, goddesses  attired  in  the  airiest  of  raiment 
bearing  huge  wreaths  of  laurel  in  their  out- 
stretched hands.  And  while  many  of  our 
medals,  notably  those  of  our  colleges,  do  not 
deserve  to  be  thus  condemned,  yet  when  they 
are  placed  beside  the  medals  of  the  Olympic 
games,  the  design  of  a  Parisian  sculptor,  there 
is  scarcely  one  which  does  not  fade,  upon  the 
instant,  into  insignificance.  Thus,  if  money 
means  beauty,  within  reasonable  limits,  I 
advocate  its  use.  If  not,  it  seems  of  no  import- 
ance, one  way  or  the  other. 

The  question  of  value  apart,  of  what  should 
the  prize  consist?  A  cup,  a  medal,  a  ribbon, 
these  are  all  proper;  a  souvenir,  a  trophy  of 
victory  —  that,  and  nothing  more.  Yet  every 
now  and  again  there  springs  up  a  fashion  of 
giving  prizes  which  may  be  turned  to  more 
practical  account.  Umbrellas,  bags,  lamps, 
watches,  and  the  like  —  all  in  turn  have  had 
their  day.  And  the  spirit  which  prompts  the 
givers  is,  I  think,  a  kindly  one.  "Our  athletes," 
they  say,  "are  not,  for  the  most  part,  young 
men  of  wealth.  After  they  have  won  a  dozen 
cups  and  medals,  what  use  have  they  for  more? 


EARLY  MEMORIES  21 

Let  us  give  them  a  chance  to  win  something 
useful  instead." 

This  seems,  indeed,  at  first  sight,  plausible 
enough,  yet  in  practice  it  brings  us  dangerously 
near  the  ranks  of  the  professionals.  In  the  case 
of  the  medal  or  the  cup,  we  are  winning  some- 
thing which  in  the  ordinary  course  of  events 
we  should  never  think  of  going  out  and  pur- 
chasing; while  in  the  case  of  our  useful  prizes, 
we  are  winning,  through  the  exercise  of  our 
muscles  and  our  brains,  articles  which  rank 
among  the  ordinary  necessities  of  life,  and 
which  we  should  otherwise  find  it  necessary  to 
pay  for  in  cash.  At  the  very  least,  the  amateur 
spirit  is  in  danger. 

I  recall,  in  this  connection,  an  experience  of 
my  own.  During  a  summer  spent  in  England 
I  competed  in  a  set  of  athletic  games.  The 
events  were  rather  to  my  liking;  there  was  no 
great  competition  to  be  faced;  and  as  a  result, 
I  bore  away  with  me  the  most  miscellaneous 
collection  of  prizes  I  have  ever  seen.  Memory 
serves  me  but  dimly,  but  I  recall,  at  least,  a 
large  wooden  clock,  a  pocket  knife,  a  set  of 
salt  cellars,  a  bogwood  pipe,  a  silver  watch, 
and  an  order  (which  I  transferred  to  one  of  my 
friends  of  the  afternoon)  for  five  shillings' 


22    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

worth  of  groceries.  And  as  a  natural  result, 
while  as  a  rule  I  try  to  preserve  my  trophies 
with  the  utmost  care,  I  think  that  of  all  that 
day's  collection  the  pipe  is  the  only  article 
which  remains  in  my  possession  to-day.  Let  a 
prize,  then,  be  emblematic  only,  and  not  the  oft- 
quoted  "useful  article,"  which  we  may  go  forth 
and  purchase  at  the  nearest  department  store. 
After  our  "junior  sports  "  I  had  no  further 
competition  for  a  year.  In  May,  1890,  I  took 
part  in  the  senior  games  of  the  school,  and 
was  second  in  the  running  high  jump,  im- 
proving my  record  to  4  feet  and  11  inches. 
After  this,  I  competed  several  times  in  the 
New  England  interscholastic  games  and,  to 
speak  with  candor,  made  a  showing  that  could 
hardly  have  been  worse.  Once,  indeed,  in  the 
high  jump,  I  finished  fourth,  which  would 
appear  at  first  sight  to  be  doing  fairly  well, 
but  the  love  of  truth  again  compels  me  to  go  fur- 
ther and  to  explain  that,  besides  myself,  there 
were  but  three  other  competitors  in  the  event. 
My  ambition,  indeed,  never  faltered.  I  aimed 
as  high  as  ever ;  I  yearned ;  I  aspired  ;  but 
judged  by  the  standard  of  results,  I  knew  as 
well  as  any  one  that  I  was  a  complete  and 
miserable  failure. 


EARLY  MEMORIES  23 

All  this  was  bad  enough,  yet  worse  was  to 
come;  and  a  year  later  my  athletic  career,  if 
such  it  could  be  called,  was  brought  for  the 
time  being  to  an  untimely  end.  I  underwent 
a  physical  examination;  some  defect,  real  or 
imaginary,  was  discovered  in  the  action  of  my 
heart,  and  further  exercise  was  at  once  for- 
bidden. For  a  boy  of  seventeen,  half -crazy 
over  athletics,  this  came  pretty  near  the  line 
of  black  tragedy;  yet  it  enabled  me  to  prove 
that  my  love  of  sport  was  not  a  selfish  one.  I 
still  went  to  all  the  athletic  meetings;  I  still 
cheered  on  my  schoolmates  to  the  victories  I 
could  not  share;  and,  most  of  all,  I  took  to 
delving  in  the  record  books,  to  study  there  the 
names  and  the  achievements  of  the  great  men 
of  the  past. 

What  a  list  of  mighty  names  I  found,  since 
the  championships  were  first  held  in  '76 : 
Myers  and  Ford,  Sherrill  and  Westing,  Owen, 
Gary,  and  Brooks,  in  the  sprints;  Myers,  Dohm, 
and  Downs  in  the  quarter;  Myers  and  Good- 
win in  the  half;  Fredericks  and  George,  Con- 
neff  and  Carter,  in  the  distance  runs;  Jordan 
and  Copeland  in  the  hurdles;  Ford,  Pritchard, 
Hallock,  and  Nickerson  in  the  high  jump;  Ford 
in  the  broad  jump;  Baxter  in  the  pole  vault; 


24    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

and  in  the  weights  those  mighty  giants,  Lam- 
brecht,  Coudon,  Queckberner,  Mitchell,  and 
Gray. 

Among  such  a  list,  "fortis  Gyas  fortisque 
Cloanthus,"  it  were  hard  indeed  to  distinguish; 
and  yet  three  or  four,  I  think,  were  always  my 
special  heroes.  And  first  of  all,  among  the  run- 
ners, famous  for  all  time,  was  the  name  of  L. 
E.  Myers,  the  man  who  could  run  practically 
any  distance,  short  or  long,  and  run  it  like  a 
champion  of  champions,  as  indeed  he  was. 
For  most  of  us  one  national  championship 
seems  worthy  of  years  of  endeavor,  but  Myers 
accumulated  championships,  as  Scott  once 
said  of  Byron's  manner  of  writing,  with  "neg- 
ligent ease."  In  1879  we  find  him  winning  the 
two  hundred  and  twenty  yards,  the  quarter 
and  the  half;  in  1880  (most  marvelous  of  per- 
formances) the  same  three  events  as  in  the 
year  preceding,  and  the  hundred  yards  as  well; 
in  1881  the  hundred,  two-twenty  and  quarter, 
the  last  in  49f  seconds;  and  in  1884  the  two- 
twenty,  quarter  and  half.  Other  champion- 
ships, records,  and  notable  performances  might 
be  added  at  will;  but  it  is  enough,  perhaps,. to 
say  that  this  athlete  of  thirty  years  ago  still 
stands  to-day,  as  he  stood  then,  the  most 


GEORGE  R.  GRAY 


EARLY  MEMORIES  25 

remarkable  example  of  an  all-around  runner 
that  the  modern  world  has  known. 

Another  of  my  heroes  was  Malcolm  W.  Ford. 
Pick  up  the  championship  list  at  random,  and 
it  is  hard  to  read  for  any  length  of  time  without 
coming  across  his  name.  In  1884,  1885,  and 
1886,  we  find  him  champion  at  the  hundred 
yards;  in  '85  and  '86,  at  the  two-twenty;  in  '83 
at  the  high  jump;  in  '83,  '84,  '85,  '86,  and 
'89  at  the  broad  jump;  and  as  if  all  this  were 
not  enough,  in  '85,  '86,  '88,  and  '89,  he  was 
champion  at  the  all-arounds  (of  which  more 
hereafter),  the  most  taxing  and  thorough  test 
of  an  athlete's  skill  anywhere  to  be  found.  A 
marvelous  performer,  a  close  student  and  ob- 
server, and  a  man  who  loved  athletics  for  their 
own  sake  —  that  was  Malcolm  Ford. 

Nor  can  I  close  my  chapter  without  mention 
of  two  men  whose  names,  for  years,  were  house- 
hold words,  wherever  prowess  in  athletics  was 
esteemed  —  Mitchell  and  Gray.  Their  reign  — 
Gray  with  the  shot,  Mitchell  with  the  hammer 
and  fifty-six  —  was  long  and  absolutely  un- 
questioned. At  many  a  meeting,  I  believe, 
they  might  have  claimed  the  prize  as  theirs 
without  laying  a  hand  upon  the  weights  at  all, 
and  there  would  have  been  none  to  say  them 


26    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

nay.  For  years,  too,  their  records  stood  un- 
rivaled. And  while  no  man  may  reign  for- 
ever, while  youth,  in  the  old  sporting  phrase, 
will  be  served,  and  while  Ralph  Rose  and  Flan- 
agan are  our  champions  to-day,  yet  to  be 
great  in  one's  time  —  who  may  aspire  to  more  ? 
and  no  two  names,  I  think,  will  ever  add  more 
lustre  to  the  annals  of  American  sport  than 
those  of  James  S.  Mitchell  and  George  R. 
Gray. 


CHAPTER  H 

COLLEGE  DAYS  —  FAILURE  AND  SUCCESS 

I  ENTERED  Harvard  University  in  the  fall  of 
1892.  Within  a  week  or  so  I  was  given  a 
physical  examination,  and  though  I  approached 
the  ordeal  with  many  misgivings  I  emerged 
with  flying  colors.  The  verdict  on  my  health 
was  completely  reversed.  I  was  pronounced 
sound  in  wind  and  limb ;  and  forthwith,  taking 
heart  of  grace,  I  began  once  more  to  practice 
the  high  jump,  and  entered  for  the  event  in 
the  fall  handicap  games.  The  day  was  raw 
and  chilly,  and  I  jumped  very  badly  indeed. 
Yet  the  other  competitors  did  little  better, 
and  with  a  liberal  handicap  of  five  inches,  I 
finished  first  with  an  actual  jump  of  5  feet 
2j.  I  can  remember  how  proud  I  was  of 
the  pewter  cup  —  Heaven  knows  I  had  little 
to  be  proud  of  in  the  jump  which  won  it  — 
so  that  for  a  long  time  I  was  never  weary  of 
studying  the  seal  which  adorned  it,  with  the 
Latin  motto  "Aeque  pede  pulsanda  tellus," 
the  date  of  the  founding  of  the  Association  — 


28    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

1874  —  and '  best  of  all,  the  winged  foot, 
which  stood  for  all  that  I  longed  to  achieve, 
yet  at  the  same  time  despaired  of  accom- 
plishing. 

After  the  Christmas  holidays,  the  track  team 
was  formally  called  together.   The  candidates 
were  divided  into  different  squads,  and  for  an 
hour  each  day  worked  at  the  dumb-bells  and 
chest-weights    in    the   gymnasium,   practised 
starting  in  the  baseball  cage  downstairs,  and 
ran  through  the   different  distances  on  the 
board  track  out  of  doors.  The  starting  was  by 
far  the  most  popular  part  of  the  work.    The 
men  were  lined  up  in  the  cage,  divided  into 
heats,  and  with  judges  and  a  starter  were  put 
through  a  series  of  ten-yard  sprints.  Then  the 
winners  of  the  different  heats  would  run  again, 
and  would  thus  be  gradually  weeded  out,  until 
at  last  one  solitary  victor  remained.  The  whole 
thing  furnished  just  the  necessary  spice  of 
competition,  and  kept  us  from  wearying  of  the 
chest-weights  and  dumb-bells,  which,  after  a 
certain  length  of  time,  seem  somehow  to  fail  a 
little  of  inspiration.    Moreover,  the  work  was 
of  real  value  as  practice  for  quick  starting,  and 
many  a  sprinter,  later  to  do  good  work  upon 
the  track,  was  first  brought  into  notice  by  a 


COLLEGE  DAYS  29 

burst  of  speed  shown  in  this  starting  in  the 
cage. 

After  a  time,  I  made  some  progress  at  these 
short  dashes,  and  at  the  winter  meeting  in  the 
Gymnasium  I  was  second  in  the  ten-yards 
dash,  and  second  in  the  potato  race  as  well. 
Incidentally,  by  this  sport  of  potato  racing, 
there  hangs  a  tale.  It  came  suddenly  into  favor 
about  this  time,  flourished  for  several  years, 
and  finally  died  again.  It  was  a  peculiarly  ex- 
citing contest  to  watch,  and  a  very  taxing  one 
for  those  who  took  part  in  it.  At  the  start  was 
placed  a  line  of  milk-cans;  in  front  of  each,  at 
two-yard  intervals,  were  strung  eight  potatoes; 
and  the  man  who  first  gathered  his  row,  one  at 
a  time,  and  deposited  them  safely  within  the 
can  was  adjudged  the  winner.  I  have  called 
it  a  taxing  race;  perhaps  it  does  not  sound  so, 
upon  paper;  yet  if  you  are  doubtful,  try  it  for 
yourself,  and  see. 

At  this  potato  race  I  achieved  some  measure 
of  fame.  In  the  two  years  in  which  the  sport 
flourished,  I  started  fourteen  times,  and  won 
nine  firsts,  four  seconds  and  one  third.  And  in 
the  process,  I  was  to  be  made  a  victim  of  our 
national  desire  to  create  "world's  champions" 
at  will.  Thirty-five  seconds  was  considered 


30    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

good  time  for  the  race;  anything  under  that 
was  pretty  sure  to  win;  but  on  one  occasion, 
in  a  match  against  my  chief  antagonist,  I 
managed  to  outdo  myself,  and  finished  in  32f , 
which  stood,  for  some  time,  as  the  record. 
Next  morning  I  awoke  to  find  the  papers  blaz- 
ing gorgeously,  "Boston  Man  establishes 
World's  Record  for  Potato  Race!"  Heavens 
above !  Here  was  a  sport,  but  newly  come  into 
favor,  in  one  city,  in  one  state  of  the  Union, 
and  as  far  as  I  am  aware,  not  practised  at  that 
time  in  any  other  portion  of  the  civilized 
world.  Yet  here  I  was,  most  sorely  against  my 
will,  branded  as  a  "Champion  of  the  World." 
I  had  dreamed  of  fame,  but  never  in  this  guise. 
Of  course,  as  was  to  be  expected,  I  was  un- 
mercifully "jollied"  by  my  classmates;  my 
official  title  was  bestowed  upon  me  on  all  pos- 
sible—  and  impossible  —  occasions;  and  at 
last  the  joke  was  carried  to  the  point  where 
presentations  of  potatoes,  both  real  and  arti- 
ficial, were  sent  me,  by  express  and  through 
the  mail.  I  was  powerless,  and  could  do  little 
more  than  hang  my  head  in  shame,  yet  I  have 
marveled  since  to  find  how  much  company  I 
have  had  in  this  special  kind  of  notoriety.  If  a 
man  cannot  contrive  in  these  happy  days  to 


COLLEGE  DAYS  31 

become  a  "world's  champion"  at  one  thing 
or  another,  it  is  only  because  he  has  no  friends 
—  or  enemies  —  among  the  gentlemen  who 
guide  the  destinies  of  that  fearful  and  wonder- 
ful thing,  our  daily  press. 

Scattered  through  the  different  squads  of 
candidates,  we  could  observe  those  happy 
beings  —  the  members  of  the  track  team  of  the 
year  before.  To  us  poor  novices,  they  seemed 
only  a  little  lower  than  the  gods  themselves. 
To  possess  a  sweater  with  a  great  white  "H" 
upon  it ;  to  possess  running-drawers  with  a 
crimson  stripe  down  the  side;  to  possess  a  run- 
ning-shirt with  a  crimson  band  slashed  from 
shoulder  to  waist,  and  a  small  edition  of  the 
"H"  in  the  middle  —  was  it  any  wonder  that 
to  us  the  right  to  wear  that  sacred  letter  seemed, 
at  least  for  the  time  being,  the  very  end  and 
justification  of  existence?  For  my  own  part, 
I  shall  never  forget  the  awe  with  which  I  gazed 
upon  the  heroes  who  had  been  point-winners 
in  the  intercollegiates,  or  against  Yale;  and 
when  I  thought  of  what  they  could  do,  and  then 
tried  to  measure  my  own  poor  attainments  by 
the  side  of  theirs,  I  raged  inwardly  at  myself, 
and  alternated  between  moods  of  hope  (for 
which  there  was  no  justification  whatever)  and 


32    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

of  black  despair  (for  which,  looking  at  the  situ- 
ation coolly  and  dispassionately,  there  seemed 
to  be  every  reason  in  the  world). 

And  yet,  even  at  this  very  time,  the  Fates 
were  conspiring  to  aid  me;  a  great  light  was 
shortly  to  burst  upon  my  mind;  and  I  was  to 
see  at  last  the  entrance  to  the  promised  land. 
Up  to  now,  all  the  time  and  labor  which  I  had 
spent  upon  athletics  had  been  bestowed  with 
the  idea  that  these  sports  were  a  mere  question 
of  bone  and  brawn  and  muscle,  and  that  the 
man  who  happened  to  be  best  adapted  phys- 
ically to  following  them  was  the  man  who 
would  defeat  all  comers.  Yet  now  I  was  to 
learn  that  this  theory  was  untrue  or,  looked  at 
in  the  most  favorable  light,  only  half  true  at 
the  most;  that  skill  was  greater  than  strength, 
brain  than  muscle;  and  that  the  man  who  once 
thoroughly  mastered  the  method  of  performing 
an  event  could  thereafter  hold  his  own  with 
those  infinitely  his  superiors  in  strength  and 
size.  This  illuminating  truth  was  now  for  the 
first  time  to  pierce  the  density  of  my  mind, 
and  whatever  measure  of  success  was  to  come 
to  me  was  to  be  due  to  the  following  out  of 
this  idea. 

The  manner  of  my  learning  was  this.  Among 


COLLEGE  DAYS  33 

the  athletes  then  competing  for  the  B.  A.  A. 
was  James  E.  Morse,  a  man  who  had  brought 
to  the  study  of  athletics  a  keen  and  observant 
mind  and  a  thorough  love  for  all  kinds  of  sport. 
He  was  one  of  the  best  high  jumpers  in  the 
country — had  cleared  his  6  feet  and  over  — 
and  for  his  weight  and  size — he  was  tall,  but 
slenderly  built,  and  far  from  rugged — an  excep- 
tionally good  all-around  performer  in  every 
branch  of  athletics,  and  a  first-class  gymnast 
as  well.  Morse  was  in  the  wool  business  and, 
as  it  chanced,  was  employed  by  a  man  who 
was  one  of  the  best  and  kindest  friends  I 
have  ever  known.  This  friend  was  well  aware 
of  my  ambitions,  and  one  day  told  me  that 
he  proposed  introducing  me  to  Morse,  in  the 
hope  that  he  might  give  me  some  advice 
of  value.  It  was  on  the  22d  of  February, 
1893,  that  the  meeting  was  brought  about.  I 
was  jumping  at  a  set  of  games  in  the  old  Tech- 
nology Gymnasium,  on  Exeter  Street,  and  was 
performing  with  my  usual  enthusiasm,  and  I 
fear,  with  my  usual  lack  of  intelligence.  I  had, 
however,  begun  to  fill  out  considerably;  had 
grown  taller  and  broader,  and  was  altogether, 
physically,  in  the  best  shape  of  my  life.  And 
so,  although  my  style  was  as  bad  as  ever,  the 


34    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

result  of  my  added  strength  had  told  a  little 
on  my  jumping,  and  I  was  good  for  about  5 
feet  4.  I  still  jumped  the  old  side  jump,  and 
was  so  intent  upon  getting  a  good  "crouch," 
as  it  is  technically  called,  that  I  approached 
the  bar  in  a  manner  which  I  can  now  see,  as  I 
look  back  upon  it  with  the  conservatism  of  age, 
fully  merited  the  derision  it  always  aroused. 
Even  at  this  set  of  games,  I  can  remember  that 
one  small  boy,  with  the  unerring  instinct  of 
youth,  hit  upon  the  proper  word  to  describe 
my  style.  As  I  came  sneaking  down  towards 
the  bar,  very  much  in  what  I  should  conceive 
to  be  the  manner  of  a  man  with  a  guilty  con- 
science starting  out  to  rob  a  hen-roost,  this 
young  reprobate  called  out,  "Oh,  Gee,  fellers, 
look!  Here  comes  the  prowler!"  Candid 
friends  recognized  with  delight  the  aptness  of 
the  phrase,  and  the  chance  remark  blossomed 
and  bore  fruit  for  more  years  than  I  care  to 
recall. 

With  my  prowling  style,  then,  I  cleared,  as 
usual,  my  5  feet  4,  and  as  usual,  failed  at 
the  succeeding  height.  Morse  watched  me  care- 
fully, but  said  never  a  word  until  after  the 
games,  when  he  sought  me  out  in  the  dressing- 
room.  I  stood  waiting  to  hear  his  verdict,  like 


COLLEGE  DAYS  35 

a  prisoner  about  to  receive  sentence,  and  not, 
I  think,  much  more  hopefully.  "Well,"  he 
said  at  last,  "you've  plenty  of  spring,"  and 
then,  as  I  remained  silent,  he  went  on,  not  un- 
kindly, "but  here's  the  trouble.  You  don't 
know  anything  about  jumping  at  all.  You 
don't  understand  the  first  principles  of  getting 
your  body  over  the  bar.  I  could  take  you  and 
train  you,  and  in  six  months  from  now  I  could 
have  you  jumping  5  feet  10." 

I  gazed  at  him,  incredulous;  started  to  an- 
swer, and  then  stopped.  Words  were  inad- 
equate. If  I  had  heard  that  in  six  months 
I  should  be  fitted  to  jump  over  the  moon,  I 
should  have  believed  it  almost  as  readily.  And 
still  my  mind  could  not  help  dwelling  on  his 
words  in  a  kind  of  sing-song,  "5  feet  10,  5 
feet  10";  and  when  he  went  on  to  explain 
his  plans,  I  fell  in  with  them  with  the  utmost 
readiness.  He  was  to  have  a  set  of  standards 
made,  prepare  a  mat  from  the  bags  in  the  ware- 
house, and  then  clear  a  space  in  the  wool  loft, 
where  I  could  come  down  two  or  three  times 
a  week  for  practice.  Within  a  week  our  les- 
sons began.  And  any  one  who  has  ever  learned 
the  wrong  way  of  performing  an  event,  and 
then  turned  around  and  attempted  to  learn  the 


36    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

right  one,  will  know  at  the  outset  what  I  went 
through.  "Jump  like  this,"  Morse  would  say. 
"  Jump  like  this,"  my  brain  would  repeat,  and 
then,  when  I  would  try  to  convert  theory  into 
practice,  my  unruly  muscles  would  interfere 
and  spoil  everything  by  continuing  as  they  had 
always  done. 

At  last,  after  much  patient  teaching  on 
Morse's  part  and  after  much  blundering  ef- 
fort on  my  own,  I  reached  the  point  where  I 
could  clear  about  5  feet  and  7  inches.  There 
seemed,  if  I  could  do  this  in  the  spring  games, 
just  the  faintest  chance  that  I  could  make  the 
team.  There  was  competition  in  plenty.  G.R. 
Fearing,  Jr.,  of  the  class  of  1893,  was  then  a 
senior,  and  was  not  only  by  all  odds  the  best 
high  jumper  in  college,  but  by  an  equal  mar- 
gin the  best  in  all  the  colleges  as  well.  Four 
years  in  succession  he  was  champion  at  the 
intercollegiates  —  a  feat  in  that  event  never 
duplicated.  And  if  there  is  any  other  branch 
of  athletics  which  Fearing  has  been  unable  to 
master,  I  have  yet  to  learn  of  it.  He  was  (and 
is)  a  notable  figure  in  the  world  of  sport.  Run- 
ner, jumper,  hurdler,  oarsman,  player  of  tennis 
and  racquets  —  I  will  not  prolong  the  list  to 
weariness.  A  more  versatile  performer,  I  think, 


COLLEGE  DAYS  37 

never  lived.  There  was  something  almost  irri- 
tating, not  in  his  success,  but  in  the  manner  in 
which  he  achieved  it.  What  others  had  to  toil 
and  scheme  and  plan  to  accomplish,  he  simply 
came  out  and  did.  I  may,  after  so  many  years, 
be  in  error;  there  may  have  been  the  deepest 
method  under  the  apparent  carelessness  of  his 
work;  but  to  all  outward  appearance,  it  looked 
as  if  he  essayed  a  thing,  and  with  his  combina- 
tion of  strength  and  agility,  could  not  miss  it  if 
he  tried.  Professor  Saintsbury  has  told  us  of 
the  hapless  critic  who  profoundly  observed  that 
Scott's  originality  could  not  be  considered  in 
his  favor,  since  it  came  to  him  by  nature.  And 
in  much  the  same  way,  to  those  of  us  who  had 
to  work  hard  and  long  finally  to  achieve  our 
little  measure  of  success,  it  seemed  as  if  Fear- 
ing's  ability  was  so  entirely  a  matter  of  course 
that  he  deserved  no  credit  for  the  wonders 
which  he  achieved. 

Besides  Fearing,  we  had  for  high  jumpers 
T.  E.  Sherwin  and  G.  C.  Chaney,  both  of  the 
class  of  '94,  and  W.  E.  Putnam,  Jr.,  a  class- 
mate of  my  own.  Sherwin,  at  that  time,  was 
the  best  of  the  three,  jumping  consistently 
around  5  feet  8  or  9.  Chaney  was  a  man 
who  possessed  great  natural  advantages,  to 


38    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

begin  with.  He  was  6  feet  and  6  inches  in 
height,  and  had  a  somewhat  unstudied  style 
of  jumping,  running  directly  at  the  bar,  and 
tucking  his  legs  up  under  him  in  the  manner 
of  Con  Leahy  and  the  other  great  Irish  jump- 
ers. As  it  so  happened,  he  never  did  his  best 
work  in  college  competition;  but,  by  the  irony 
of  fate,  no  sooner  was  he  graduated  than  I  saw 
him  enter  an  unimportant  meeting  on  the  old 
Irvington  Oval,  and  with  the  utmost  ease  go 
on  clearing  height  after  height  until  he  had 
gone  over  5  feet  11}.  This,  indeed,  is  one 
of  the  hardships  of  athletics.  A  song  much 
in  vogue  a  few  years  ago  had  for  its  refrain, 
"It's  seldom  or  never  you'll  find  them  to- 
gether,— the  time,  and  the  place,  and  the  girl." 
And  to  paraphrase  this  for  the  athlete,  it  is 
seldom  or  never  that  the  combination  of  the 
right  day,  the  right  opportunity  and  the  top- 
notch  of  condition  all  work  together  to  re- 
sult in  a  truly  great  performance. 

Putnam  was  in  every  way  a  complete  con- 
trast to  Chaney.  He  was  of  medium  height, 
lithe  and  slender,  an  excellent  gymnast,  and  a 
most  graceful  and  scientific  jumper.  He  took 
a  long  run  at  the  bar  with  his  distance  accu- 
rately divided  and  measured,  and  his  "lay- 


COLLEGE  DAYS  39 

out"  as  he  jumped  was  so  good  —  his  body 
so  nearly  parallel  to  the  ground  —  that  more 
than  once,  with  the  bar  up  around  5  feet 
9  or  10,  I  have  seen  him  apparently  over 
in  safety,  only  at  the  very  last  moment  of 
all  to  knock  it  off  with  the  very  back  of  his 
head. 

Thus  I  had  competitors  in  plenty,  and,  as 
might  well  have  been  expected,  I  did  not  suc- 
ceed in  making  the  team.  In  the  class  games, 
Fearing  did  not  compete.  His  place  upon  the 
team  was  too  well  assured  to  call  for  any  dis- 
play of  his  powers.  Sherwin  won  at  5  feet 
8j,  and  Chaney,  Putnam,  and  myself  tied 
for  second  at  5  feet  7.  Then  in  the  long 
jump-off  I  failed,  and  the  others  were  suc- 
cessful. And  as  the  last  straw,  in  my  final 
desperate  effort  I  managed  somehow  to  spike 
myself  severely,  cutting  a  long  clean  gash 
just  above  the  ankle  and  extending  half  way 
in  to  the  bone.  Altogether,  I  limped  off  the 
field,  feeling  that  the  world  was  a  place  of  deep- 
est gloom,  and  that  all  the  time  and  trouble 
which  my  friend  Morse  had  spent  upon  me 
had  been  wholly  thrown  away. 

In  reality,  however,  I  think  that  my  failure 
to  do  better  in  the  spring  games  was  largely 


40    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

due  to  a  mixture  of  overtraining  and  of  over- 
anxiety  to  do  well.  For  after  a  rest,  in  August 
of  that  same  year,  at  the  City  of  Cambridge 
games,  I  distinguished  myself  in  most  un- 
looked-for fashion.  The  games  had  a  notable 
entry  list,  the  New  York  Athletic  Club  sending 
over  a  team,  among  whom  were  Goff,  the  all- 
around  champion,  "Tommy"  Conneff,  the 
champion  at  the  mile,  and  a  number  of  others. 
Holmes  Field  was  the  scene  of  competition;  the 
day  was  perfection;  and  altogether  it  was  a 
good  chance  for  any  one  to  do  his  best.  I  was 
entered,  as  usual,  in  the  high  jump,  and  felt 
vaguely,  as  I  cleared  the  lower  heights,  that  I 
seemed  to  have  an  unusual  amount  of  spring. 
I  cleared  5  feet  8  without  trouble,  the 
best  performance  I  had  ever  shown;  and  then 
5  feet  9.  At  5  feet  10,  I  failed  twice,  just 
displacing  the  bar  at  each  attempt;  but,  on  my 
last  trial,  with  a  tremendous  wriggle  I  worked 
clear  of  the  bar,  and  with  my  handicap  of  four 
inches  was  a  safe  winner  over  the  rest  of  the 
field.  It  was  on  the  whole  rather  a  singular 
vindication  of  Morse's  judgment.  He  had 
found  me  jumping  5  feet  4  and  had  said  that 
in  six  months  he  could  add  6  inches  to  my 
jump;  and  now,  six  months  later,  almost  to  the 


COLLEGE  DAYS      .  41 

day,  I  made  good  his  prediction,  and  to  the 
very  fraction  of  an  inch. 

One  good  jump,  however,  does  not  make  a 
jumper.  The  next  spring  I  again  managed  to 
overtrain,  and  to  my  disgust,  once  more  failed 
to  make  the  team.  But  in  the  fall  of  my  junior 
year  I  began  at  last  to  amount  to  something. 
I  had  taken  up  the  broad  jump,  shot  and  ham- 
mer, and  had  shown  some  proficiency  in  all 
three.  I  was  good  for  21  feet  and  over  in  the 
broad,  could  put  the  shot  about  38  feet,  while 
with  the  hammer  I  threw  over  120  feet,  and 
broke  the  Harvard  record.  The  following  spring 
I  made  the  team,  and  with  that  out  of  the  way, 
my  next  ambition  was  to  win  a  point  in  the 
games  with  Yale,  and  thus  have  the  right  to 
wear  my  "H."  Yet  ill-luck  was  still  to  be  my 
portion.  On  the  day  of  the  games,  I  competed  in 
the  broad  jump,  and  the  high.  In  the  broad,  it 
was  conceded  that  Sheldon,  of  Yale,  and  Stick- 
ney,  of  Harvard,  would  share  first  and  second, 
but  I  had  strong  hopes  of  third.  One  of  the  Yale 
jumpers,  a  slight,  sandy-haired  young  man 
named  Mitchell,  was  to  upset  my  calculations. 
He  came  out  for  his  first  trial,  and  to  my  horror, 
cleared  21  feet  and  7  inches.  I  came  next,  and 
had  the  agony  of  hearing  my  jump  announced 


42    REMINISCENCES  OP  AN  ATHLETE 

as  21  feet  6f .  Neither  of  us  could  better  these 
first  attempts,  and  Sheldon  won,  with  Stickney 
second,  and  Mitchell  third.  Years  afterward, 
Mitchell  and  I  chanced  to  meet  again,  for  the 
first  time  since  that  day,  and  as  we  shook  hands, 
we  both  smiled.  "I  think/'  said  he,  "that 
we've  met  before.  "I  think,"  I  responded, 
"that  I  still  remember  a  little  matter  of  a 
quarter  of  an  inch,"  and  forthwith,  with  much 
good  feeling,  we  talked  over  the  old  times,  and 
the  events  which  had  appeared  to  us  then  of 
more  importance,  perhaps,  than  anything  else 
in  the  world. 

Thus  I  was  shut  out  in  the  broad  jump;  and 
I  was  to  be  unsuccessful  in  the  high  as  well. 
Paine  of  Harvard  was  the  winner,  and  Putnam 
of  Harvard,  Thompson  of  Yale  and  myself 
were  tied  for  second  at  5  feet  9^.  On  the 
long  jump-off  both  the  others  finally  cleared 
the  next  height,  and  I  was  the  one  to  fail. 
21  feet  6|  in  the  broad  —  5  feet  9  J  in  the 
high  —  and  not  even  a  third  place  to  show  for 
it.  It  was  sufficiently  discouraging. 

And  now,  after  all  my  troubles,  my  fortune 
was  at  length  to  change;  1897,  from  start  to 
finish,  was  to  be  my  lucky  year.  Our  first  con- 
test of  the  spring  was  with  Pennsylvania,  and 


COLLEGE  DAYS  43 

there  was  more  than  usual  interest  in  the  out- 
come of  the  games.  For  one  thing,  we  had 
beaten  them  the  year  before,  at  Philadelphia, 
and  they  were  looking  for  their  revenge.  Be- 
sides this,  both  teams  were  good  ones  and  so 
evenly  matched  that  to  pick  a  winner  seemed 
little  better  than  guesswork.  In  the  sprints 
we  had  Bigelow,  Roche  and  Denholm,  all 
three  running  close  to  even  time,  while  they 
had  a  new-comer  named  Hoffman  whom  they 
claimed  for  a  certain  winner,  both  in  the  hun- 
dred and  two-twenty.  We  felt  sure  of  the 
quarter  and  half,  with  Hollister;  they  were 
equally  certain  of  the  mile,  with  the  famous 
Orton,  and  the  walk,  with  Fetterman.  "Billy" 
Morse  was  our  hope  in  the  low  hurdles,  and 
many  of  us  believed  that  he  could  even  defeat 
J.  D.  Winsor,  Jr.,  the  Pennsylvania  captain, 
in  the  high  jump  as  well.  We  figured  on  the 
broad  jump,  with  J.  G.  Clark,  while  word  came 
to  us  from  Philadelphia  that  we  need  not  worry 
over  that  event,  as  J.  P.  Remington,  their  best 
man,  was  clearing  23  feet  in  practice,  and 
was  absolutely  not  to  be  beaten  for  first. 
They  conceded  us  the  pole-vault,  with  Hoyt, 
while  in  the  weights  we  had  to  acknowledge 
that  with  Woodruff  and  McCracken,  the  famous 


44    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

football  players,  they  would  have  practically  a 
clean  sweep  both  in  the  hammer  and  the  shot. 
Altogether,  it  gave  promise  of  being  as  close 
and  exciting  a  meeting  as  one  could  wish 
to  see. 

From  these  games,  it  so  chanced  that  I  was 
to  gain  something  of  a  reputation  for  "making 
good"  in  a  tight  place,  while  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  the  only  credit  I  deserved  was  for  doing 
a  lot  of  hard  work  —  apparently  without  hope 
of  reward  —  in  practising  with  the  shot.  This, 
however,  appears  to  be  one  of  life's  many 
puzzles,  as  well  as  one  of  its  somewhat  cynical 
consolations.  We  are  blamed  for  many  things 
of  which  we  are  not  guilty,  and  in  return, 
obtain  credit  for  much  to  which  we  have  no 
shadow  of  a  claim. 

The  affair  of  the  shot-put  came  about  in  this 
wise.  The  managers  of  the  team,  realizing  our 
weakness  in  the  event,  announced  a  series  of 
competitions,  with  the  idea  of  developing 
some  one  who  might  possibly  at  the  utmost 
pick  up  a  single  point  in  the  games.  There  is 
really  no  better  plan  with  the  hammer  and 
shot  than  holding  frequent  competitions  of 
this  kind.  Not  only  does  it  arouse  interest, 
but  in  addition  there  are  no  other  events  in 


COLLEGE  DAYS  45 

which  the  competitors  are  so  apt  to  fall  short 
of  their  practice  form.  Unconsciously,  a  man 
is  apt  to  acquire  the  habit  of  taking  twenty  or 
thirty  trials  with  the  shot  and  hammer,  and  of 
regarding  the  best  throw  of  all  as  the  distance 
which  he  is  really  capable  of  accomplishing. 
In  a  sense  of  course  this  is  true;  but  when  he 
faces  actual  competition,  he  has  as  a  rule  no 
chance  for  any  great  amount  of  preliminary 
"warming-up";  he  has  his  three  trials  within 
the  narrow  compass  of  a  seven-foot  circle;  and 
if  he  makes  a  foul  throw  his  effort  goes  for 
naught.  Thus  there  is  little  to  be  wondered  at 
if  a  man  fails  to  equal  his  practice  throws,  and 
the  discipline  of  frequent  competition  is  the 
only  thing  to  show  him  what  he  may  fairly 
count  upon  doing  in  the  actual  contest  itself. 
We  had  plenty  of  fun  that  winter  out  of 
this  practice,  but  our  performances  were  no- 
thing more  than  fair.  I  won  the  prize,  as  I 
remember  it,  for  the  best  average  in  the  series; 
somewhere  between  37  and  38  feet.  This,  in- 
deed, in  itself  and  for  those  days  was  almost 
respectable,  but  compared  with  the  records  of 
our  rivals  it  was  hopelessly  bad;  so  that  we 
made  up  our  minds  that  in  the  shot-put,  at 
least,  we  had  no  faintest  shadow  of  a  chance. 


46    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

The  day  of  the  meet  came  at  last,  dawning 
fair  and  clear, —  one  of  the  days  that  I  shall 
always  remember.  The  games  were  held  on 
Holmes  Field,  that  spot  so  rich  in  associations 
and  memories.  Never,  to  me  at  least,  and  I  am 
sure  to  many  others  as  well,  can  there  be  an- 
other field  to  take  its  place:  the  dark  oval  of 
the  track,  circling  the  green  of  the  diamond; 
nearer  the  college  yard,  the  well-rolled  jump- 
ing-paths;  and  beyond  them,  just  at  the  curve 
leading  into  the  stretch,  that  famous  spot, 
beneath  the  towering  willows,  where  many  a 
man  has  moved  gamely  up  through  his  field, 
making  his  final  effort  in  the  quarter-mile.  The 
Stadium  of  to-day  is  magnificent,  its  track  su- 
perb; but  between  it  and  old  Holmes  Field 
there  is  the  same  difference  as  between  some 
splendid  castle,  which  you  are  glad  to  visit  for 
a  time,  and  the  peace  and  comfort  of  your 
home.  Field,  track,  jumping-paths,  —  all  are 
gone,  but  the  heritage  of  the  past  remains; 
and  around  the  spot  there  linger  still  the 
memories  of  mighty  contests,  of  the  great 
athletes  of  the  past,  of  victories  won  for  one's 
college,  not  for  self,  and  best  of  all,  win  or 
lose,  of  sport  that  has  been  always  fair  and 
clean. 


COLLEGE  DAYS  47 

We  dressed  that  day  in  the  old  Carey 
Building  across  the  field,  and  sat  there  wait- 
ing when  the  call  was  given  for  the  first  heat 
in  the  high  hurdles.  The  moment  when  we 
rose  and  sauntered  slowly  across  to  the  start 
is  as  clear  in  my  mind  as  if  it  had  happened 
yesterday.  To  the  athlete,  trained  to  the  min- 
ute, the  freedom  of  his  limbs  scarce  hampered 
by  his  light  running-clothes,  breathing  the 
pure  air,  feeling  the  warm  sun  beating  down 
upon  him,  there  comes  the  splendid  sensation 
of  living,  the  feeling  of  strength  and  power 
equal  to  the  best.  And  then,  just  before  the 
start,  to  hear  the  band  come  crashing  to  its 
close,  and  in  the  hush  that  follows  to  hear  the 
three  long  Harvards,  the  three  times  three, 
and  one's  name  at  the  end;  then,  indeed,  each 
nerve  and  muscle  seem  strung  to  tensest  strain; 
whatever  mortal  man  can  do  —  to  that  one 
feels  that  he  may  attain. 

Fortune  at  the  start  favored  us.  In  the  first 
heat  of  the  hurdles,  Hallowell,  of  Harvard,  and 
myself  were  drawn  with  two  Pennsylvania  men. 
I  won  in  16f,  with  Hallowell  second.  And  in 
the  next  heat,  Fox,  our  best  man,  won,  with 
Williams  of  Harvard  again  beating  out  the 
Pennsylvanians.  It  was  a  good  beginning,  and 


48    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

we  postponed  the  finals  until  later,  a  day  or 
two  after  the  meet.  Fox  won,  I  was  second, 
and  Hallowell  third. 

The  hundred  came  next,  and  I  scarcely  re- 
member a  more  exciting  race.  Bigelow  won 
the  first  heat  in  10^,  with  Denholm  second. 
Hoffman  had  been  drawn  in  the  second 
heat,  and  we  watched  him  anxiously,  as 
he  jogged  down  the  track  before  the  start, 
eager  to  see  if  he  measured  up  to  the  standard 
that  was  claimed  for  him.  He  looked  danger- 
ous, beyond  a  doubt.  He  was  tall,  rangy  and 
muscular,  and  covered  the  ground  easily  with 
a  long  and  powerful  stride.  He  took  the  lead 
at  the  start  and  won  his  heat  in  ten  seconds 
flat,  with  Roche  of  Harvard  a  good  second,  so 
that  he  was  left  the  only  Pennsylvanian  in  the 
final,  with  the  three  fastest  Harvard  runners 
against  him.  And  what  a  race  the  final  was, 
—  how  painfully  dramatic  its  ending !  At  90 
yards,  Roche,  fairly  outdoing  himself,  was  in 
the  lead,  and  all  bias  aside,  I  think,  at  least 
as  I  viewed  the  race,  would  have  won.  And 
then  —  with  the  tape  almost  in  his  grasp,  in 
one  sudden  instant  a  tendon  failed  him  and, 
wholly  helpless,  he  pitched  forward  headlong 
upon  the  track,  leaving  Hoffman  to  flash  past 


COLLEGE  DAYS  49 

the  line  a  winner,  with  Bigelow  second  and 
Denholm  third.  And  still,  our  sympathy  for 
Roche  aside,  we  were  not  unduly  cast  down, 
for  from  the  very  first  we  had  not  been  over- 
confident of  the  sprints;  and  when  a  moment 
later  we  won  all  three  places  in  the  quarter, 
with  Hollister,  Vincent,  and  Fish,  we  felt  that 
our  chances  still  looked  bright.  Then  Hollister 
won  the  half,  in  1.57-f;  Morse  won  the  low 
hurdles,  and  Hoyt  the  pole  vault;  and  then  the 
luck  shifted  strongly  in  the  opposite  direction. 
Hoffman,  as  we  had  expected,  won  the  two- 
twenty;  Fetterman  won  the  walk;  and  hi  the 
mile  not  only  did  Orton  win,  as  every  one 
knew  he  would,  but  Pennsylvania  took  the 
other  two  places  as  well.  The  high  jump  was 
a  battle  royal.  Both  Morse  and  Winsor  cleared 
6  feet  and  1  inch,  and  then  Winsor  got  over  6 
feet  2j,  the  best  individual  performance  of 
the  day.  The  broad  jump,  too,  went  against 
us.  J.  G.  Clark  cleared  22  feet  3f ,  and  I  did 
22  feet  and  I  inch ;  but  Remington,  with  a 
jump  of  22  feet  8,  defeated  us  both.  Woodruff 
and  McCracken  were  first  and  second  in  the 
hammer,  and  we  came  to  the  last  event,  the 
shot-put,  with  the  score  55  to  49  in  Harvard's 
favor.  Here,  however,  Pennsylvania  was  count- 


50    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

ing  on  winning  all  three  places  and  the  games. 
I  remember  that  deep  down  in  my  heart  I 
had  all  along  felt  that  I  had  a  chance  for  third, 
for  my  practice  putting  had  been  very  consist- 
ently in  the  neighborhood  of  38  feet.  I  made 
my  first  put  slow  and  sure,  and  put  exactly  38 
feet  to  an  inch.  McCracken's  first  put  was 
the  best  of  the  day,  40  feet  62  inches,  and 
Woodruff,  who  was  bothered  with,  a  lame  hand, 
made  40  feet  and  ?  inch.  And  then  on  my 
third  put  I  caught  things  right;  I  knew  as 
the  shot  left  my  hand  that  I  had  outdone  my- 
self. There  was  a  little  pause  as  the  knot  of 
officials  gathered  about  the  tape,  and  then  the 
measurer  rose  and  called  out,  "40  feet  4i 
inches."  We  had  won  second  place,  and  with  it 
the  games  themselves,  by  the  narrowest  of  mar- 
gins, 57  to  55. 

One  incident  that  followed  I  like  especially 
to  recall.  I  had  taken  a  car  for  home,  and  mid- 
way over  the  Harvard  Bridge  the  coach  bear- 
ing the  Pennsylvania  team  swept  by.  I  was 
standing  upon  the  rear  platform  of  the  car; 
some  one  on  the  coach  saw  me,  and  the  next 
instant,  to  my  infinite  surprise,  I  was  honored 
for  the  first  and  only  time  in  my  life  with  the 
Pennyslvania  cheer,  with  my  name  at  the  end. 


COLLEGE  DAYS  51 

When  I  hear  people  talk  of  the  need  of  clean 
sport  and  the  lack  of  the  amateur  spirit,  I  like 
to  look  back  upon  the  games  with  Pennsylvania 
and  recall  that  cheer. 


CHAPTER  III 

COLLEGE    DAYS  —  HEROES    PAST    AND    PRESENT 
— THE    RUNNERS 

COLLEGE  athletics  —  the  specialized  and  sys- 
tematized athletics  of  to-day  —  are  such  a 
recent  growth  that  the  historical  background 
is  of  necessity  almost  wholly  lacking.  The 
great  athletes  of  the  seventies  and  eighties 
occupy  a  kind  of  dubious  middle  ground.  On 
the  one  hand,  their  records  are  just  old  enough 
to  be  unfamiliar  to  the  present  generation;  on 
the  other,  their  deeds  have  not  as  yet  been 
fittingly  told  or  sung,  and  the  halo  of  antiquity 
does  not  as  yet  surround  their  brows.  Thus 
the  effect  upon  their  fame  is  to  cause  it  to  grow 
dim,  and  the  modern  youth  is  apt  to  dismiss 
the  name  of  some  great  athlete  of  the  past 
with  an  incisive — "Never  heard  of  him;  what 
the  devil  did  he  ever  do,  anyway?"  To  recall 
the  performances  of  some  of  these  worthies, 
now  dangerously  near  oblivion,  as  well  as  to 
comment  upon  some  of  the  college  heroes  of  to- 
day, is  the  purpose  of  this  chapter. 


COLLEGE  DAYS  53 

In  the  sprints,  the  first  name  of  prominence 
is  that  of  H.  H.  Lee,  of  Pennsylvania,  who  won 
the  hundred  yards  in  1877,  '78  and  '79;  and 
in  the  first-named  two  years  the  two-twenty, 
as  well.  His  best  record  for  the  hundred,  10J, 
shows  how  slight  the  improvement  in  time  has 
been,  over  a  period  of  thirty  years. 

Lee's  direct  successor  was  Evart  Wendell, 
of  Harvard,  who  won  the  two-twenty  in  1879, 
the  hundred  and  the  two-twenty  in  1881,  and 
in  1880  accomplished  the  remarkable  feat  of 
winning  the  hundred,  two-twenty  and  quarter, 
all  in  the  same  afternoon.  After  Wendell  came 
H.  S.  Brooks,  Jr.,  of  Yale, 'who  won  the  hun- 
dred in  1882  and  in  1884,  both  times  in  10J; 
and  who  won  the  two-twenty  in  1882  and  1883, 
on  the  first  occasion  in  the  very  fast  time,  for 
those  days,  of  22|.  Then  came  Wendell 
Baker,  of  Harvard,  who  won  the  two-twenty 
for  three  years  in  succession,  and  in  1885  cap- 
tured the  quarter  as  well;  and  to  Baker  suc- 
ceeds the  famous  name  of  C.  H.  Sherrill,  of 
Yale,  who  won  the  hundred  (the  only  man  to 
accomplish  the  feat)  for  four  years  in  succes- 
sion, beginning  in  1887  and  ending  in  1890. 
His  time  for  the  four  years  was  10  f ;  lOf; 
10i;  10 1;  a  very  high  and  very  consistent 


54    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

order  of  sprinting ;  and  in  every  year  but 
the  first  he  also  won  the  two-twenty,  his 
time  being  22f,  22f  and  22j.  It  seemed 
indeed  as  if  such  work  as  this  would  stand  a 
long  time  upon  the  record  books,  and  yet  the 
very  next  year  appeared  the  phenomenal  L. 
H.  Gary,  of  Princeton,  who  broke  all  college 
records  by  running  the  hundred  in  10  seconds 
flat  and  the  two-twenty  in  21  f .  Then  Swayne 
and  Richards  of  Yale  and  Ramsdell  of  Penn- 
sylvania each  held  the  championship  for  a 
year,  both  in  the  shorter  and  the  longer  dash, 
Ramsdell  equaling  Gary's  time  of  10  seconds 
for  the  hundred,  and  both  Swayne  and  Rams- 
dell running  the  two-twenty  in  22  seconds  flat. 
The  next  year,  1895,  was  to  see  a  new 
champion,  this  time  from  the  West  —  John 
V.  Crum,  of  the  University  of  Iowa.  I  recall 
that  for  some  little  time  before  the  intercol- 
legiates  of  that  year  we  heard  great  things  of 
Crum,  but  were  rather  inclined  to  shrug  our 
shoulders  and  give  scant  credit  to  the  times 
he  was  reputed  to  have  made.  Yet  on  the  day 
of  the  games,  he  convinced  the  most  skeptical 
among  us  by  winning  both  dashes  in  impres- 
sive form  and  duplicating  Ramsdell's  feat  of 
the  year  previous  by  running  them  both  in  even 


COLLEGE  DAYS  55 

time.  A  year  or  so  later  we  were  shocked  to 
hear  of  Crum's  death.  I  can  remember  no 
other  athlete  who  made  friends  more  readily 
or  won  greater  respect  for  the  sterling  qualities 
of  his  character.  I  have  always  remembered 
with  pleasure  the  story  one  of  my  classmates 
told  me  of  the  start  of  the  two-twenty  on  the 
final  day  of  the  games.  He  was  standing  near 
the  line,  and  observed  Crum  digging  the  holes 
which  each  sprinter  makes  in  the  track  to 
enable  him  to  get  a  firmer  and  quicker  start 
in  the  dash.  The  Western  man  was  using  a 
knife  of  a  design  unfamiliar  to  my  friend,  and 
stepping  up  to  Crum  he  asked  him  if  there  was 
any  special  virtue  in  its  use.  Crum  looked  up 
at  him  with  a  smile.  "I  got  it,"  he  answered, 
"from  an  old  man  that  keeps  a  shoemaker's 
shop  out  home.  He  asked  me  to  bring  it  on 
with  me  when  I  came  East  to  tackle  you 
chaps,  and  to  be  sure  to  use  it,  so  that  I  'd  get 
my  start  right  anyway,  no  matter  how  I  fin- 
ished." And  five  minutes  later  he  had  demon- 
strated to  the  satisfaction  of  every  one  that  he 
could  finish  as  well  as  start. 

Crum  remained  in  the  East  all  that  summer, 
for  this  was  the  year  of  the  international 
games  between  England  and  America,  and 


56    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

for  a  long  time  he  was  looked  upon  as  our 
mainstay  against  the  English  sprinters.  And 
yet  before  the  games  were  held  another  man 
was  to  make  his  appearance,  a  man  greater 
even  than  Crum,  and  one  who  at  his  best  was, 
I  believe,  the  greatest  all-around  sprinter  the 
country  has  ever  seen.  This  was  Bernard  J. 
(better  known  as  "Bernie")  Wefers,  who 
hailed  from  Georgetown  in  his  college  days,  and 
later  on  ran  in  the  colors  of  the  New  York 
Athletic  Club.  Wefers  had  been  running  in 
the  meets  around  Boston  for  a  number  of 
years,  and  was  rated  as  a  fast  man,  although 
he  had  never  had  the  benefit  of  systematic 
training,  and  was  never,  I  think,  quite  in  the 
very  top-notch  of  physical  condition.  I  remem- 
ber competing  against  him  in  the  hundred  at 
the  games  of  the  Gloucester  Athletic  Club  on 
Decoration  Day,  in  1895.  He  was  on  scratch, 
and  with  a  handicap  of  five  yards  and  a  half  I 
managed  to  beat  him  in  the  final  heat  by  a  very 
narrow  margin.  Shortly  after  this,  he  went  to 
Tr avers  Island  to  train  under  "Mike"  Mur- 
phy for  the  games  with  the  Englishmen,  and 
what  a  transformation  a  few  weeks  wrought 
in  him!  I  went  on  that  year  to  compete  at 
the  national  championships  in  September,  and 


COLLEGE  DAYS  57 

the  first  man  to  come  up  and  shake  hands  with 
me  was  Wefers.  He  was  brown  as  an  Indian, 
the  very  picture  of  health,  and  moved  up  and 
down  the  track  as  if  he  were  set  on  springs. 
His  first  words  were,  "5|  yards  wouldn't  do 
you  any  good  to-day";  and  as  I  watched  him 
beat  his  field,  Crum  included,  in  both  the  hun- 
dred and  two-twenty,  I  felt  that  he  could  have 
given  me  10  yards  and  a  beating  as  easily  as 
5.  He  repeated  his  victories  over  the  English- 
men, and  the  next  spring  ran  at  the  intercol- 
legiates  and  not  only  won  the  hundred  in  9f , 
breaking  the  record,  but  achieved  the  really 
marvelous  distinction  of  winning  the  two- 
twenty  in  2li  seconds,  a  record  still  unbeaten, 
and  never  equaled  until  the  intercollegiates  of 
1910,  when  R.  C.  Craig,  of  Michigan,  aston- 
ished every  one  by  running  the  distance  in  the 
same  wonderful  time  of  2li. 

After  Wefers,  Tewksbury  of  Pennsylvania 
proved  a  worthy  successor,  winning  both 
dashes  in  1898  and  1899  and  making  the  same 
excellent  time  in  both  years,  10  seconds  in  the 
hundred,  and  2l|  in  the  two-twenty. 

In  1900  we  find  the  name  of  an  athlete  who 
was  a  first-class  performer  in  more  different 
events  than  any  other  man  who  has  so  far 


58    REMINISCENCES  OP  AN  ATHLETE 

appeared  upon  the  athletic  stage.  This  is  a 
broad  and  sweeping  statement,  but  I  make  it 
advisedly  and  with  the  necessary  emphasis 
upon  the  words  "first-class."  To-day,  we 
have  a  wonderful  performer  in  all-around 
work  in  the  person  of  Martin  Sheridan;  but 
his  development  is  so  perfect  and  so  even  in  all 
the  different  events  that,  with  the  exception 
of  the  discus,  where  he  reigns  supreme,  he 
never  shows  his  real  strength  outside  of  the 
actual  competition  for  the  all-around  cham- 
pionship. In  any  other  championship  meeting 
there  are  always  two  or  three  men  who  can 
defeat  him  in  any  one  event  —  specialists 
opposed  to  an  athletic  "general  practitioner"; 
but  the  man  of  whom  I  am  now  to  speak 
could  go  out  in  any  company  and  be  abso- 
lutely certain  of  two  events,  practically  certain 
of  a  third,  and  in  two  or  three  others  was  all 
but  the  equal  of  the  best.  And  thus  the  fol- 
lower of  athletic  history  needs  hardly  to  be  told 
that  the  name  of  this  great  performer  was 
Alvin  C.  Kraenzlein,  of  Pennsylvania. 

Kraenzlein  was  the  greatest  individual  cham- 
pion of  the  intercollegiates.  He  competed  for 
three  years,  1898,  1899  and  1900,  and  no  man 
could  have  made  a  more  dramatic  entrance 


ALVIN  C.  KRAENZLEIN 


COLLEGE  DAYS  59 

upon  the  intercollegiate  stage  than  he  did  in 
the  first-named  year.  Up  to  that  time  he  was 
one  of  the  many  "great  unknowns"  who  occa- 
sionally make  good  all  the  reports  of  their 
prowess,  but  who  much  more  often  when 
faced  with  men  of  real  championship  timber 
fail  utterly  to  sustain  their  paper  reputation. 
At  Pennsylvania,  indeed,  they  knew  what  a 
find  they  had  made,  but  in  Cambridge,  and  I 
think  in  the  other  colleges  as  well,  every  one 
was  disposed  to  ridicule  the  stories  of  a  man 
who  was  breaking  world's  records  in  practice 
merely  by  way  of  ordinary,  every-day  diver- 
sion. Our  awakening  came  in  a  manner  never 
to  be  forgotten.  Four  years  before,  J.  L.  Bre- 
mer,  Jr.,  of  Harvard,  had  been  the  foremost 
low  hurdler  of  his  time.  Bremer  was  a  first- 
class  athlete.  He  was  tall,  spare  and  sinewy, 
could  run  a  hundred  yards  in  lOf  and  a 
quarter  in  51,  and  for  three  years  in  succes- 
sion won  the  low  hurdles  at  the  intercollegi- 
ates,  —  incidentally,  in  1895,  establishing  a 
world's  record  of  24f  seconds  for  the  distance. 
After  this,  he  entered  the  medical  school,  and 
under  the  pressure  of  work  there  gave  up 
athletics  altogether.  With  the  approach  of  the 
intercollegiates  of  1898  the  Harvard  coaches, 


60    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

worrying  over  the  reports  that  Pennsylvania 
had  the  greatest  hurdler  who  had  ever  worn  a 
shoe,  suddenly  awoke  to  the  fact  that  Bremer 
had  still  another  year  in  which  he  was  eligible 
to  represent  Harvard  on  the  track.  He  was  at 
once  approached,  and  finally,  solely  for  the 
sake  of  the  college,  consented  at  some  per- 
sonal sacrifice  of  his  own  time  to  run.  At  once 
we  began  openly  to  exult.  "There,"  we  re- 
marked with  intense  self-satisfaction,  "per- 
haps that  won't  stop  a  little  of  this  Kraenzlein 
talk  for  a  while."  And  yet,  to  our  surprise  — 
even  to  our  amazement  —  our  friends  in  Phila- 
delphia refused  to  "scare."  And  the  next  word 
that  came  to  us  was  that  they  heartily  wel- 
comed Bremer's  return  to  the  track,  that 
Kraenzlein  would  be  pleased  to  meet  him,  and 
that  their  man  could  beat  ours,  in  the  slang 
of  the  day,  "half  the  length  of  a  city  block." 

Thus  for  the  time  being  our  confidence  was 
a  little  shaken;  yet  we  rallied  quickly,  discount- 
ing the  stories  we  heard  on  the  theory  that  they 
were  the  exaggerations  of  undergraduates'  talk; 
and  when,  a  week  or  so  before  the  games, 
Bremer  went  through  the  distance  in  record 
time,  our  courage  returned  and  we  could  see 
nothing  but  victory  ahead.  Neither,  however, 


COLLEGE  DAYS     .  61 

could  Pennsylvania.  It  was  a  repetition  of  the 
old  problem  of  the  irresistible  force  and  the 
immovable  body.  Neither  man  could  lose. 

The  race,  of  course,  is  ancient  history  now. 
It  was  a  case  of  a  good  man,  and  a  better. 
Bremer  had  speed;  Kraenzlein  was  speedier. 
Bremer  had  spring;  Kraenzlein  was  springier 
still.  Bremer  was  strong  and  active;  Kraenz- 
lein was  not  only  his  equal,  but  his  superior. 
And  added  to  all  this,  Kraenzlein  was  the  first 
man  to  run  the  hurdles  in  what  is  now  the 
accepted  modern  style,  not  with  a  bend  of  the 
knee  and  a  gathering  of  the  body,  but  clearing 
the  hurdles  stiff-legged,  precisely  as  though  he 
were  taking  them  in  his  natural  stride,  —  as  if 
they  did  not  exist  at  all. 

There  could  be,  of  course,  but  one  result. 
Bremer  ran  a  race  equal  to  the  best  he  had  ever 
done  —  and  was  beaten  a  full  10  yards.  Yet, 
when  the  time  was  given  out,  it  must  have 
blunted  the  sting  of  defeat.  Kraenzlein  had 
removed  from  the  world's  record,  not  ^  of  a 
second  or  -f,  but  an  entire  second  itself.  He 
had  covered  the  distance  in  23  f.  Nothing 
remained  to  be  said.  A  new  champion  had 
arisen,  and  a  new  school  of  hurdling  as  well. 

In  1898  Kraenzlein  won  the  high  and  low 


62    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

hurdles.  In  1899  he  "repeated  this  perform- 
ance, and  won  the  broad  jump  besides,  with 
the  record  distance  of  24  feet  4^  inches.  And 
in  1900,  to  return  to  the  point  whence  we 
started,  he  made  the  unequaled  record  of 
winning  the  hundred  yards,  the  high  hurdles, 
the  low  hurdles,  and  of  finishing  second  in  the 
broad  jump  to  Meyer  Prinstein,  his  one  great 
rival  in  that  event,  —  three  firsts  and  a  sec- 
ond, in  these  days  of  the  most  intense  special- 
ization, against  the  pick  of  all  the  colleges. 
It  is  scarcely  safe  to  venture  on  prophecy  in 
these  days  of  great  athletes  and  great  per- 
formances, yet  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  be- 
lieve that  Kraenzlein's  feat  will  be  equaled 
for  many  and  many  a  year. 

In  the  official  records  of  the  next  three  years 
as  they  stand  to-day,  we  find  in  the  hundred 
yards  the  names  of  the  men  who  finished  sec- 
ond, and  a  brief  note  explaining  that  the  name 
of  the  winner  has  been  stricken  from  the  rec- 
ords. All  this,  of  course,  refers  to  the  affair 
of  Arthur  Duffey,  of  Georgetown,  who  com- 
peted for  many  years  as  an  amateur,  and  was 
acknowledged  to  be  the  fastest  short-distance 
man  in  the  country.  He  won  for  these  three 
years  at  the  intercollegiates,  and  made  his 


COLLEGE  DAYS  63 

world's  record  (now  disallowed)  of  9|  seconds, 
in  the  race  of  1902.  After  all  this  he  competed 
abroad,  fell  under  suspicion  of  not  being  strictly 
within  the  amateur  fold,  and  at  last,  when 
charged  with  professionalism,  openly  admitted 
the  fact,  acknowledged  that  he  had  for  years 
been  deriving  support  from  his  "amateur" 
athletics,  and  excused  himself  on  the  ground 
that  not  only  were  there  many  others  in  the 
same  class  with  himself  who  lacked  the  cour- 
age to  come  forward  and  confess,  but  that, 
worse  than  this,  most  of  the  prominent  ath- 
letic clubs  secretly  encouraged  such  practices 
and  were  only  too  glad  to  secure  the  presence  of 
prominent  athletes,  "drawing  cards,"  by  the 
payment  of  very  liberal  money  for  "expenses 
of  travel,  etc." 

As  far  as  the  facts  go,  Mr.  Duffey  has  spoken 
from  an  inside  knowledge  of  the  game  as  it  has 
been  played;  and  from  my  own  experiences,  and 
from  the  many  talks  which  I  have  had  on  the 
subject  with  other  athletes,  past  and  present, 
who  have  been  prominent  in  their  day,  I  be- 
lieve that  he  has  done  no  more  than  speak  the 
truth.  It  is  not  perhaps  to  be  wondered  at. 
It  is  only  another  instance  of  our  great  na- 
tional failing,  one  more  "sign  of  the  times." 


64    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

In  politics,  honesty  is  sacrificed  to  success;  in 
business,  there  is  a  code  of  morals  scarcely  in 
accord  with  the  teachings  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment; why  should  our  athletics,  which  we  take 
so  seriously,  escape  the  blight?  Let  us  have 
our  world's  records,  our  great  athletes,  our 
crowds  to  come  and  see  them  perform;  and  if, 
to  accomplish  all  this,  we  have  to  sacrifice  a 
little  common  honesty,  a  little  of  somebody's 
money,  and  a  little  of  somebody  else's  self- 
respect,  why,  is  not  the  satisfaction  of  contem- 
plating the  splendid  result  worth  the  price  we 
pay? 

Thus  the  devil's  advocate.  And  in  reply  to 
him  we  can  only  say  that  if  there  is  one  place 
in  the  world  where  corruption  should  not  be 
allowed  to  enter,  it  is  in  the  field  of  amateur 
sport;  and  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Duffey,  with  his 
perfectly  natural  plea,  "The  others  do  it  too," 
we  can  only  answer  that  two  wrongs  never  yet 
made  a  right,  and  we  can  feel  only  regret  that 
an  athlete  who  won  so  many  famous  races,  and 
who  showed  so  many  good  qualities  during  the 
whole  of  his  racing  career,  could  not  have  man- 
aged to  come  out  squarely  as  a  professional 
and  tried  his  fortune  if  he  so  desired  in  that 
open  field,  instead  of  competing  and  winning 


COLLEGE  DAYS   ,  65 

his  fame  under  the  cloak  of  the  spurious 
"amateur." 

After  Duffey,  Schick  of  Harvard  won  the 
hundred  and  two-twenty  in  1904  and  1905, 
in  the  first-named  year  running  the  hundred 
in  even  time,  and  the  two-twenty  in  the 
very  remarkable  figures  of  21f,  only  a  fifth 
behind  Wefers'  wonderful  record.  Schick,  a 
truly  great  sprinter,  shares  with  Wefers  the 
collegiate  record  of  9|  for  the  shorter  dash. 

For  the  next  three  years,  Cartmell,  of  Penn- 
sylvania, won  both  dashes,  in  1907  running 
the  hundred  in  even  time,  and  the  two-twenty 
in  21^.  Then  followed  Foster,  of  Harvard,  who 
came  into  prominence  as  a  first-class  man  only 
in  the  spring  of  1909,  but  who  won  both  the 
hundred  and  two-twenty  at  the  intercollegi- 
ates,  the  hundred  in  10^,  and  the  two-twenty 
in  21f.  In  1910,  "Tex"  Ramsdell,  of  Pennsyl- 
vania, won  the  hundred  in  even  time,  and  Craig 
of  Michigan,  as  already  noted,  won  the  two- 
twenty  in  21^. 

Coming  to  the  quarter-milers,  the  first  name 
to  arrest  our  attention  is  that  of  W.  H.  Good- 
win, Jr.,  of  Harvard.  For  three  years  in  suc- 
cession, beginning  with  1882,  Goodwin  won 
both  the  quarter  and  the  half,  and  in  1883 


66    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

made  the  remarkable  time,  for  those  days,  of 
51^  for  the  quarter,  and  2  minutes  and  2  sec- 
onds for  the  half. 

Next  after  Goodwin,  Wendell  Baker  won  the 
quarter  in  1885,  and  then  S.  G.  Wells,  also  of 
Harvard,  won  for  three  years  in  succession. 
In  1889  and  1890  we  find  the  names  of  two 
great  runners,  W.  C.  Dohm  of  Princeton  and 
W.  C.  Downs  of  Harvard,  both  of  whom  were 
champions  at  the  quarter,  and  the  half  as  well. 
Dohm  won  the  quarter  the  first  year  in  50 
seconds  flat,  and  Downs  the  half  in  g.02£, 
while  the  year  following  Downs  won  the  quar- 
ter in  50f,  and  Dohm  won  the  half  in  the 
remarkable  time  of  1.57£. 

The  next  year  —  1891  —  produced  a  new 
champion  and  record-breaker  in  G.  B.  Shat- 
tuck  of  Amherst,  who  won  in  49  J.  Then  four 
Harvard  men  —  Wright,  Sayer,  Vincent  and 
Merrill  —  each  held  the  title  for  a  year,  all 
four  winning  their  races  in  better  than  51. 
Merrill  was  a  wonderful  performer  —  one  of 
the  half-dozen  really  great  quarter-nailers  in 
this  country  —  although  his  name  is  probably 
not  so  widely  known  as  that  of  many  another 
man  whom  he  could  have  defeated  with  ease. 
This  was  because  Merrill,  like  many  other 


COLLEGE  DAYS  67 

great  athletes,  confined  his  interest  in  athletics 
to  his  college  days  and  strictly  to  his  college 
running,  not  caring  to  represent  either  his 
university  or  some  athletic  club  in  outside 
competition.  He  was  the  most  deceptive  man 
to  see  coming  across  the  field  before  a  race  that 
I  remember.  He  looked  heavy,  slow,  stolid,  — 
really,  as  the  expression  goes,  as  if  he  "had  n't 
speed  enough  to  get  out  of  his  own  way";  but 
when  the  pistol  sounded,  what  a  marvelous 
change !  I  can  see  him  now,  in  his  best  races  on 
Holmes  Field.  Half  way  up  the  back  stretch, 
he  would  be  running  perhaps  fifth  or  sixth, 
and  then,  so  easily  and  gradually  that  you 
could  scarcely  realize  it,  that  long,  sweeping 
stride  would  pick  up  man  after  man,  until, 
rounding  the  turn  by  the  willows,  he  would 
have  a  commanding  lead,  the  battle  for  first 
place  would  be  over,  and  the  interest  would 
centre  only  in  the  fight  for  second  and  third 
places. 

Merrill  has  left  behind  him  no  actual  record 
in  black  and  white  to  show  what  he  was  really 
capable  of  doing  in  the  matter  of  time;  but  in 
one  of  his  relay  races,  where  he  was  the  last 
man  upon  his  side  to  run,  he  was  caught  by 
separate  timing  better  than'  49  seconds,  and 


68    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

this,  I  think,  is  a  fair  estimate  of  what  he  could 
do  at  his  best. 

The  next  great  name  after  Merrill's  —  his 
equal  at  the  quarter  itself,  and  his  superior  as 
an  all-around  runner  —  is  that  of  Thomas  E. 
Burke.  Burke's  name  appears  in  the  inter- 
collegiate records  as  winner  of  the  quarter  in 
1896  and  1897  and  of  the  half  in  1899.  Yet  his 
college  running  was  the  least  part  of  his  activ- 
ities. He  was  a  seasoned  campaigner,  running 
all  distances  from  the  short  sprints  to  the  half- 
mile,  and  at  one  time  or  another  adding  to 
his  list  practically  all  known  championships  — 
interscholastic,  dual,  intercollegiate,  New 
England,  metropolitan,  Canadian,  national, 
international  and  Olympic.  Not  only  was  he 
a  great  racer,  invariably  to  be  depended  upon 
in  actual  competition,  but  his  records  show 
that  he  made  the  most  of  the  advantages  that 
were  his  by  nature.  He  was  tall  and  slim,  yet 
wiry  and  rugged  at  the  same  time,  and  his 
stride  in  the  quarter  was  enormous.  And  yet, 
with  all  the  championships  he  won  and  all  the 
records  he  made,  I  have  always  had  the  im- 
pression about  Burke's  performances  that 
never,  even  then,  was  he  really  forced  to  his 
limit.  Very  possibly  I  am  wrong ;  often  the 


COLLEGE  DAYS  69 

athlete  himself  knows  better  what  his  capabili- 
ties are  than  the  critics  who  stand  and  look 
on  at  his  work  —  and  whether  or  not  Burke 
ever  let  himself  out  to  the  very  last  notch  or 
not,  his  record,  as  it  stands,  is  so  good  that  it 
places  him  in  the  very  front  rank  of  American 
runners  —  an  all-around  racer  of  the  same 
type  and  class  as  L.  E.  Myers. 

The  next  famous  name  in  the  list  of  quarter- 
mile  champions  is  that  of  M.  W.  ("Maxey") 
Long  of  Columbia.  Long  won  the  quarter,  in 
1899,  in  the  very  fast  time  of  49|,  and  the 
next  year,  running  in  the  colors  of  the  New 
York  Athletic  Club,  established  the  two  rec- 
ords which  stand  to-day,  47  seconds  flat  for 
the  straightaway  quarter,  and  47£  for  the 
quarter  around  a  turn.  Long  was  perhaps 
hardly  as  graceful  a  runner  to  watch  as  some 
of  the  other  fast  quarter-nailers,  but  as  some 
one  said  of  Dixon,  the  negro  pugilist,  when  at 
the  beginning  of  his  career  he  was  knocking 
out  man  after  man  who  ventured  to  oppose 
him,  "George  may  not  be  clever,  but  he's 
damned  effective."  And  thus  Long,  with  his 
great  speed  and  stamina,  with  his  pluck  and 
gameness,  though  seemingly  lacking  that  last 
perfection  of  grace  possessed  by  some,  was 


70    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

nevertheless  marvelously  "effective,"  as  his 
records  prove. 

To  Long,  in  1900,  succeeded  Dexter  Board- 
man  of  Yale,  a  very  fast  man,  who  won  in  49f ; 
and  to  Boardman,  in  turn,  succeeded  W.  J. 
Holland  of  Georgetown,  who  won  for  the  next 
two  years  in  succession,  the  second  year  in  the 
same  time  that  Boardman  had  made,  49|. 
Holland  was  not  only  a  great  quarter-miler, 
but  a  very  good  all-around  athlete  as  well. 
He  was  among  the  fast  men  of  his  day  at 
40  yards,  a  sure  lOf  man  in  the  hundred, 
could  make  a  showing  with  the  weights,  and 
was  a  good  high  jumper,  broad  jumper,  and 
hurdler.  In  1897  he  competed  in  the  all- 
around  championship  of  New  England,  and 
won  second  place. 

The  last  great  name  among  the  college 
quarter-milers  is  that  of  J.  B.  Taylor,  the  col- 
ored runner  from  Pennsylvania,  whose  death 
occurred  only  two  years  ago.  He  won  the 
quarter-mile  in  1904,  1907,  and  1908,  and  in 
1907  established  the  intercollegiate  record  of 
48|.  Of  all  the  runners  whom  I  have  ever 
seen,  absolutely  without  exception,  Taylor 
had  the  most  graceful  and  the  most  finished 
style.  Merrill's  stride  was  long  and  easy,  but 


COLLEGE  DAYS  .  71 

you  could  see  the  effort  which  made  it  so; 
Burke  and  Long  "ran  all  over,"  as  the  saying 
goes,  and  as  you  watched  them  you  were  con- 
scious of  the  power  they  displayed,  and  in- 
stinctively your  hands  would  clench  as  if  you 
were  running  the  race  with  them.  But  with 
Taylor,  when  the  pistol  sounded  and  he  leaped 
away  into  that  long,  sweeping  stride,  it  was 
precisely  as  if  some  lever  had  been  pressed, 
some  spring  released,  and  a  piece  of  mechanism, 
perfectly  adjusted,  on  the  instant  set  in  motion. 
It  was  so  natural,  so  wholly  without  friction 
or  apparent  effort,  that  as  you  watched  him 
your  muscles,  instead  of  tightening,  would  re- 
lax, and  looking  at  him  as  he  circled  the 
track,  you  could  feel  yourself  wondering  what 
difficulty  people  found  in  running  after  all. 
Burke,  Long,  Taylor  —  perhaps  among  so 
many  first-class  men  these  three  names  stand 
forth  preeminent  among  the  college  champions 
at  the  quarter-mile. 

Coming  to  the  next  event  —  the  half  —  we 
find  that  in  speaking  of  the  quarter  we  have 
already  dealt  with  a  number  of  the  half-milers 
as  well  —  Goodwin,  Dohm,  and  Downes,  — 
men  who  were  prominent,  not  only  in  one 
event,  but  in  both.  After  the  first  dozen  years 


72    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

of  the  intercollegiates,  the  improvement  in 
time  is  very  marked.  In  1876  the  race  was  won 
in  2.16J,  and  the  year  following  in  2.20|,  but 
after  1890,  when  Dohm  made  the  remarkable 
record  of  1.57J,  Wright  of  Yale,  Turner  of 
Princeton,  and  Corbin  of  Harvard,  each  of 
whom  held  the  title  for  a  year,  ran  their  races 
faster  than  two  minutes  flat. 

In  1894,  C.  H.  Kilpatrick  of  Union  College 
was  the  winner,  and  the  next  year  he  should 
have  repeated  his  victory  but  was  outgener- 
alled  by  Hollister  of  Harvard,  a  fast  half- 
miler,  indeed,  but  scarcely  in  Kilpatrick's 
class.  Hollister,  however,  was  the  better 
sprinter  of  the  two,  and  setting  an  easy  pace, 
managed  to  beat  Kilpatrick  in  the  final  sprint 
in  the  slow  time  (slow  for  these  men)  of  an 
even  two  minutes.  Later  that  year,  Kilpat- 
rick, running  for  the  New  York  Athletic  Club 
against  the  Englishmen,  established  his  great 
record  of  1.53|,  which  stood  until  1909,  when 
Lunghi,  in  the  Canadian  championships  at 
Montreal,  lowered  Kilpatrick's  time  to  1.52|. 

In  1898  J.  F.  Cregan  of  Princeton,  better 
known  as  a  miler,  accomplished  the  feat  of 
winning  both  the  half  and  the  mile,  the  half  in 
1.58f ,  and  the  mile  in  4.23f  —  a  truly  remark- 


COLLEGE  DAYS    -  73 

able  performance.  The  year  following,  Burke 
won,  and  after  this  no  especially  noteworthy 
name  occurs  until  1904,  when  E.  B.  Parsons 
of  Yale  won  in  the  fast  time  of  1.56f,  and  the 
year  following,  repeating  his  victory,  made  the 
intercollegiate  record  of  1.56  flat. 

In  1907,  Haskins  of  Pennsylvania  dupli- 
cated Cregan's  performance  of  1898,  by  win- 
ning both  the  half  and  the  mile,  and  in  time 
even  more  remarkable  than  Cregan's,  running 
the  half  in  1.57£,  and  the  mile  in  4.20f .  And 
in  1909  Paull  of  Pennsylvania,  after  breaking 
the  record  for  the  mile,  ran  also  in  the  half, 
and  although  his  team-mate,  Beck,  was  the 
winner,  in  the  fast  time  of  1.56f ,  every  one  who 
saw  the  race  agreed  that  if  Paull  had  so  desired, 
he  had  the  half  itself,  and  the  record  as  well, 
completely  at  his  mercy.  In  1910,  however, 
Paull  showed  a  reversal  of  form  and  was 
defeated  by  G.  H.  Whitely  of  Princeton,  in 
1.57  flat. 

The  history  of  the  mile  has  been  much  like 
that  of  the  half  —  steady  improvement  from 
the  beginning  down  to  the  present  day.  Some 
of  the  early  records  almost  excite  a  smile  — 
5.33  in  1877,  and  5.24f  in  1879.  Yet  for  the 
next  ten  years  Cuyler  and  Harmer  of  Yale, 


74    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

Morison  of  Harvard,  and  Faries  of  Pennsyl- 
vania, all  averaged  around  4.40,  and  in  1889 
C.  O.  Wells  of  Amherst  made  the  very  excel- 
lent time  of  4.29f.  Then  came  the  days  of 
Jarvis,  Orton,  and  Cregan.  Jarvis  won  in  1893, 

1894  and  1896,  and  his  best  time  was  4.26J. 
Cregan  won  from  1898  to  1900,  and  made  a 
record  of  4.23f .  Orton's  name  I  have  reserved 
until  the^last  since  he  deserves  a  special  para- 
graph by  himself. 

Although  he  won  the  intercollegiate  mile  in 

1895  and  1897,  like  Wefers,  Burke,  Long,  Kil- 
patrick  and  others,  he  was  even  more  renowned 
for  his  work  outside  of  college  competition. 
He  won  championships  innumerable,  incident- 
ally winning  the  national  championship  at  the 
mile  six  times,  and  duplicating  the  feat  in  the 
two-mile  steeplechase.    He  was  a  most  con- 
sistent runner,  always  to  be  depended  upon, 
and  a  most  scientific  student  of  the  whole  art 
and  theory  of  distance  and  cross-country  work. 

After  this  trio,  D.  C.  Munson  of  Cornell  won 
the  mile  in  1904  and  1905,  in  the  good  time  of 
4.25|  and  4.25J.  Then  Haskins  of  Pennsyl- 
vania won  for  two  years,  in  1907  making  his 
great  record  of  4.20f,  which  was  expected  to 
stand  for  years,  but  in  1909  Paull  of  Penn- 


COLLEGE  DAYS  75 

sylvania  astonished  every  one  by  lowering 
Haskins's  figures  to  4.17f ,  a  performance  which 
has  set  all  followers  of  athletics  wondering 
what  may  be  expected  from  this  new  star 
before  he  has  completed  his  college  course, 
although  in  1910,  as  noted  above,  he  did  not 
show  the  form  of  the  preceding  year  and  was 
beaten  by  P.  J.  Taylor  of  Cornell,  in  4.23f . 

The  two-mile  run  was  not  added  to  the  inter- 
collegiate programme  until  1899.  Alec  Grant 
was  the  winner,  and  the  year  following  made 
a  record  of  9.51f ,  which  stood  for  three  years, 
when  Schutt  of  Cornell  lowered  this  time  to 
9.40.  Again  in  1907,  Rowe  of  Michigan  re- 
duced the  record  to  9.34f ,  and  in  1909,  Taylor 
of  Cornell  set  the  record  which  stands  to-day, 


CHAPTER  IV 

COLLEGE  DAYS —  HEROES  PAST  AND  PRESENT 
THE  HURDLERS,  JUMPERS,  AND  WEIGHT- 
THROWERS 

IN  no  other  event  has  the  development  in  form, 
with  its  corresponding  improvement  in  time, 
been  more  marked  than  in  the  hurdles.  The 
low  hurdles  were  not  added  to  the  intercollegi- 
ate programme  until  1888,  but  in  the  high  hur- 
dles, during  the  first  ten  years  18  seconds  was 
bettered  only  twice.  W.  H.  Ludington  of 
Yale,  who  won  the  event  for  three  years  in  suc- 
cession, was  the  first  to  make  an  even  17  sec- 
onds, and  H.  Mapes  of  Columbia,  who  suc- 
ceeded him,  brought  this  down  to  16f.  The 
first  great  name,  however,  is  that  of  H.  L.  Wil- 
liams of  Yale,  who  in  1890  ran  in  16^,  and  the 
year  following  improved  his  own  record  to  15f . 
After  him  came  Harding  of  Columbia,  and 
Cady  and  Perkins  of  Yale,  all  sixteen-second 
men,  while  in  1895,  Stephen  Chase  of  Dart- 
mouth equaled  the  record  of  15|.  Chase  was 
easily  the  leading  hurdler  of  his  time.  He  won 


COLLEGE  DAYS    -  77 

the  national  championship  in  1894  and  1895, 
and  defeated  Godfrey  Shaw,  the  famous  Eng- 
lish hurdler,  in  the  international  games  of  the 
latter  year. 

The  year  1898  marked  the  sensational  ap- 
pearance, already  referred  to  in  the  preceding 
chapter,  of  Alvin  C.  Kraenzlein.  His  winning 
time  in  1898  was  15f ,  and  in  the  two  following 
years  he  bettered  this,  on  both  occasions,  by  a 
fifth  of  a  second.  Kraenzlein  did  not  confine 
his  activities  wholly  to  intercollegiate  sport, 
and  in  1898  won  the  national  championship  in 
the  high  and  low  hurdles,  and  the  following 
year  bettered  this  by  winning  four  firsts,  the 
hundred,  the  broad  jump,  and  both  hurdles; 
while  in  the  Olympic  games,  at  Paris,  in  1900, 
he  rounded  out  his  career  by  winning  the  sixty 
yards,  the  high  hurdles,  and  the  broad  jump. 

After  Kraenzlein's  retirement  the  time  in 
the  high  hurdles  continued  to  be  uniformly 
good.  In  the  next  eight  or  nine  years,  Clapp  of 
Yale,  Converse  of  Harvard,  Amsler  of  Pennsyl- 
vania, Hubbard  of  Amherst,  and  Shaw  of  Dart- 
mouth, all  won  in  turn,  and  always  in  time  bet- 
ter than  16  flat.  Shaw  was  the  best  of  the  lot, 
but  in  1907  his  colors  were  lowered  by  one  of 
the  really  great  athletes  of  the  age,  J.  C.  Gar- 


78    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

rels  of  Michigan,  who  defeated  him  in  the  finals 
in  the  splendid  time  of  15J. 

At  this  same  meeting  Garrels  won  the  low 
hurdles  in  24  seconds,  and  was  second  in  the 
shot.  It  is  hard  to  imagine  a  more  ideally  built 
man  for  a  great  athlete.  A  giant  in  stature,  and 
yet  with  the  speed  to  run  the  hurdles  in  such 
splendid  time  —  it  is  a  combination  not  met 
with  once  in  a  thousand  times.  And  yet, 
strangely  enough,  even  two  such  hurdlers  as 
Garrels  and  Shaw  —  both  with  records  of  15| 
seconds  —  were  destined  to  go  down  to  defeat 
before  Forrest  C.  Smithson,  the  Western  hur- 
dler, in  the  finals  of  the  Olympic  games  at 
London,  in  1908.  Such  a  field  —  Garrels,  Shaw, 
Smithson,  and  Rand  of  Harvard  —  never  be- 
fore faced  a  starter  in  a  high-hurdle  race. 
Smithson  won  in  15  seconds  flat,  —  a  new 
world's  record,  —  with  Garrels  second  and 
Shaw  third.  A  race  to  go  down  in  history  fa- 
mous for  all  time. 

To  return  to  Garrels  himself.  I  have  been 
asked  over  and  over  again  whether  I  believe 
Garrels  could  defeat  Martin  Sheridan  in  an  all- 
around  competition.  It  is  a  question  like  the 
famous,  "Have  you  stopped  beating  your  wife 
yet?"  which  can  hardly  be  answered  by  a  di- 


JOHN  GARRELS 


COLLEGE  DAYS  79 

rect  yes  or  no.  I  should  attempt  to  give  an  an- 
swer in  this  way.  First  of  all,  I  believe  Garrels 
to  be  the  greater  natural  athlete  of  the  two;  and 
I  say  this  advisedly,  realizing  to  the  full,  as  one 
who  has  met  defeat  at  his  hands,  what  a  wonder 
Sheridan  is.  Garrels  is  the  larger  man,  Sheridan's 
equal  in  spring,  and  his  superior  in  speed  and 
strength.  Therefore,  by  nature,  he  should  be 
the  better  performer  of  the  two.  So  much  for 
theory;  but  when  we  come  to  face  actual  abil- 
ity, as  the  men  rank  at  the  present  moment,  no 
one  who  has  not  tried  it  can  realize  the  length 
of  the  preparation  which  is  necessary  to  fit  a 
man  to  compete  in  first-class  company  in  the 
all-arounds. 

Sheridan  did  not  blossom  forth  as  a  wonder 
all  in  a  season.  He  served  a  long  and  arduous 
apprenticeship  before  he  could  make  the  con- 
sistent showing  that  he  does  to-day  at  each  one 
of  the  ten  different  events.  We  know  what  he 
can  do;  with  Garrels,  in  many  of  the  events  it 
is  largely  conjecture.  To  begin  with  the  weights, 
we  know  that  Garrels  is  the  better  man  in  the 
shot;  and  it  seems  almost  certain  that,  with  the 
proper  coaching,  he  should  be  a  wonderful  per- 
former with  both  the  hammer  and  the  fifty-six, 
—  fully  as  good  as,  if  not  better  than,  Sheridan. 


80    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

In  the  high  hurdles  Garrels,  of  course,  would 
again  be  far  ahead,  and  he  should  win  in  the 
hundred  as  well.  The  half-mile  walk  and  the 
mile  run  would  probably  be  events  at  which 
Sheridan  would  make  the  better  showing  — 
the  first,  because  the  knack  is  not  learned  in  a 
day;  the  second,  because  a  man  as  large  as  Gar- 
rels does  not  usually  take  kindly  to  the  strain 
of  the  mile.  Still,  there  are  exceptions,  and  with 
Garrels 's  football  experience  and  his  immense 
strength,  I  do  not  see  why  the  mile  should 
trouble  him.  In  the  high  jump,  and  the  broad, 
the  men  should  be  about  equal,  while  the  pole- 
vault  would  be,  in  all  probability,  Garrels's 
weakest  point,  as  it  is  one  of  Sheridan's  strong- 
est. On  the  whole,  while  the  entire  matter  is 
problematical,  and  will,  I  fear,  never  become  an 
actuality,  I  should  be  of  opinion,  that  given  a 
year  or  two  to  devote  to  preparation  for  the 
games,  Garrels  should  win.  This,  however,  as 
I  say,  is  conjecture  only,  —  merely  a  personal 
opinion,  —  and  however  much  we  may  theor- 
ize, we  know  what  Sheridan  can  do,  because  he 
has  left  the  figures,  in  black  and  white,  behind 
him. 

To  return,  after  this  digression,  to  the  hur- 
dlers. The  low  hurdles  were  added  to  the  in- 


COLLEGE  DAYS    .  81 

tercollegiate  programme  in  1888,  and  thus, 
even  from  the  start,  we  find  the  time  of  the 
winners  always  respectable,  and  for  the  most 
part  remarkably  good.  Most  of  the  fast  low  hur- 
dlers have  been  equally  good  over  the  high,  but 
there  have  been  noteworthy  exceptions.  Thus, 
while  Mapes  of  Columbia,  Williams,  Perkins, 
Clapp,  and  Howe  of  Yale,  Kraenzlein  of 
Pennsylvania,  Willis  of  Harvard,  Hubbard  of 
Amherst,  Castleman  of  Colgate,  and  Garrels 
of  Michigan,  were  all  first-class  performers, 
over  both  the  high  and  the  low,  on  the  other 
hand,  Lee,  Fearing,  and  Bremer  of  Harvard, 
and  Sheldon  of  Yale,  while  among  the  best  at 
the  low,  never  made  any  showing  at  the  high. 
J.  P.  Lee  of  Harvard,  famous  on  the  football 
field,  and  possessing  great  speed  at  the  shorter 
distances,  won  the  race  in  1890,  and  held  the 
record  of  24-$-  until  J.  L.  Bremer  of  Harvard 
lowered  this  by  a  fifth  of  a  second.  Bremer  won 
in  1894,  1895,  and  1896,  and  met  his  first  de- 
feat, already  referred  to,  in  1898,  when  Kraenz- 
lein made  his  phenomenal  record  of  23|.  In 
1902,  J.  G.  Willis  of  Harvard  made  the  next 
best  time  to  Kraenzlein,  23|.  Willis  was  an 
athlete  whose  name  is  not  so  widely  known  as  it 
should  be,  simply  for  the  reason  that  he  con- 


82    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

fined  himself  to  college  competition.  He  was 
one  of  the  strongest  hurdlers  I  have  ever  seen 
—  very  fast  at  the  high,  as  well,  —  but  the  longer 
distance  suited  him  to  perfection.  The  further 
he  ran,  the  better  he  seemed  to  like  it,  and  I  do 
not  think,  in  the  athletic  world  at  large,  he  has 
ever  quite  gained  the  standing  he  deserves  for 
this  remarkable  race.  When  one  considers  that 
the  great  Garrels,  in  1907,  ran  his  race  in  24 
seconds  flat,  and  that  this  was  f  of  a  second 
faster  than  any  other  intercollegiate  winner 
except  Kraenzlein,  then  one  can  realize  what 
Willis's  time  really  means.  In  1899  Howe  of 
Yale  won  both  hurdles,  the  high  in  15f  ,  and  the 
low  in  24|,  two  fine  performances;  and  in  1910 
Gardner  of  Harvard  won  the  low  hurdles  in 


The  one-mile  walk  has  been  discarded  from 
the  programme  now  for  ten  years,  and  was,  I 
think,  wisely  given  up.  The  great  difficulty  of 
telling  whether  a  man  is  running  or  not,  the  bad 
feeling  almost  invariably  arising  out  of  the  rul- 
ing off  of  those  who  the  judges  think  are  not 
walking  fair  "heel  and  toe,"  —  all  of  this  was 
disagreeable  and  a  sure  cause  of  trouble. 

The  three  famous  names  on  the  list  of  win- 
ners are  Borcherling  of  Princeton,  Thrall  of 


COLLEGE  DAYS  83 

Yale,  and  Fetterman  of  Pennsylvania.  Bor- 
cherling,  in  1892,  was  the  first  man  to  beat 
seven  minutes.  He  won  his  race  in  6.52f ,  and 
this  record  stood  for  a  half-dozen  years,  al- 
though Thrall  of  Yale  walked  in  6.54|  in  1896. 
Finally,  in  1898,  the  last  year  in  which  the 
event  was  held,  Fetterman  established  the 
record  of  6.45|,  which  for  obvious  reasons  still 
stands  to-day. 

In  looking  over  the  list  of  winners  in  the  run- 
ning broad  jump,  at  the  intercollegiates,  any 
one  who  is  interested  in  athletics  can  hardly 
fail  to  be  struck  by  one  fact  about  the  event, 
and  that  is,  that  the  broad  jump  combines 
more  readily  with  an  athlete's  other  special- 
ties' than  does  any  other  contest  on  the  pro- 
gramme. Apart  from  the  professed  all-around 
men,  a  man  is  usually  either  a  sprinter,  or  a 
middle-distance  man,  or  a  nailer,  or  a  hurdler, 
or  a  jumper,  or  a  weight  man.  But  in  the  broad 
jump,  since  it  depends  partly  upon  speed  and 
partly  upon  spring,  we  find  all  kinds  of  interest- 
ing combinations.  One  man  wins  the  sprints 
and  the  broad  jump,  another  the  high  jump 
and  the  broad  jump,  another  the  pole  vault  and 
the  broad  jump,  another  the  hurdles  and  the 
broad  jump,  and,  most  curious  of  all,  one 


84    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

athlete  actually  makes  a  double  win  of  the 
broad  jump  and  the  half-mile. 

The  most  common  case  is  that  of  the  man 
who  is  a  good  sprinter  and  a  good  broad 
jumper  as  well.  In  fact,  speed  is  such  an  essen- 
tial part  of  the  broad  jump  that  any  good  hun- 
dred-yards man,  with  very  little  preparation, 
is  practically  sure  of  being  able  to  get  out  and 
clear  twenty  feet.  In  the  second  year  of  the  in- 
tercollegiates,  1877,  we  find  a  triple  winner  in 
H.  H.  Lee  of  Pennsylvania  who  won  the  hun- 
dred, two-twenty,  and  broad  jump,  covering, 
in  the  last-named  event,  the  very  fair  distance 
of  19  feet  and  7  inches.  For  the  next  two  years, 
1878  and  1879,  the  winner  was  J.  P.  Conover  of 
Columbia.  Conover  was  another  of  the  double 
winners  already  referred  to,  for  in  both  of  these 
years  he  won  the  high  jump  as  well,  and  in  the 
latter  year  cleared  5  feet  8|  inches  in  the 
high,  and  an  even  20  feet  in  the  broad. 

In  1881,  J.  F.  Jenkins,  Jr.  of  Columbia  im- 
proved the  record  to  20  feet  9J,  which  stood 
for  three  years,  until  in  1884,  O.  Bodelson,  also 
of  Columbia,  made  a  distance  of  21  feet  3J. 

In  the  previous  year,  1883,  occurs  the  name 
of  a  man  who  was  a  remarkably  good  all-around 
jumper.  This  was  W.  Soren  of  Harvard,  who 


COLLEGE  DAYS  85 

won  the  event  that  year  with  a  jump  of  20  feet 
and  6  inches.  In  1880  Soren  had  been  the  win- 
ner in  the  standing  high  and  standing  broad 
jumps;  the  next  year  he  won  the  standing  high 
and  the  running  high;  and  he  won  the  latter 
event  again  in  1882,  and  the  pole-vault  as  well. 

In  1887  appears  the  first  really  great  name 
among  the  intercollegiate  broad  jumpers,  T.  G. 
Shearman,  Jr.,  of  Yale.  He  won  for  three  years 
in  succession,  and  in  1888  won  the  pole-vault 
besides.  But  it  is  as  a  broad  jumper  that  he  has 
made  his  fame  secure,  for  his  records  for  the 
three  years  were  21  feet  and  11  inches,  20  feet 
and  8  inches,  and,  last  and  best,  22  feet  and  6 
inches. 

From  this  time  on  seldom  do  the  records 
fall  below  22  feet.  The  next  year,  1890,  W.  C. 
Dohm  of  Princeton,  the  famous  middle-distance 
man,  performed  the  remarkable  feat  of  captur- 
ing the  half-mile  in  1.57£  and  winning  the  broad 
jump  with  a  leap  of  22  feet  3|  inches.  The 
succeeding  year  witnessed  the  breaking  of  the 
record,  Victor  Mapes  of  Columbia  coming 
within  three  quarters  of  an  inch  of  the  even  23 
feet.  Then  came  the  day  of  E.  B.  Bloss  of  Har- 
vard, who  won  in  1892  and  1893,  in  the  latter 
year  with  the  fine  jump  of  22  feet  9|.  Bloss  was 


86    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

a  wonderful  athlete,  seeming  at  first  sight  little 
more  than  a  midget  in  size,  but  once  stripped 
down  to  athletic  costume,  revealing  muscles  of 
tremendous  power,  and  appearing  in  action  a 
compact,  flying  ball  of  sheer  nervous  energy.  At 
the  short  dashes  he  was  unbeatable;  he  was  a 
champion  at  the  broad  jump  and  the  hop,  step, 
and  jump,  a  good  high  jumper,  and  a  fair  hur- 
dler; altogether  a  remarkable  man. 

In  1894  E.  S.  Ramsdell  of  Pennsylvania 
equaled  the  feat  of  H.  H.  Lee,  accomplished 
almost  twenty  years  before,  by  winning  both 
dashes  and  the  broad  jump,  clearing  22  feet  1 
inch  in  the  broad.  In  1895  and  1896  L.  P.  Shel- 
don of  Yale  was  the  winner,  with  22  feet  8J, 
and  22  feet  3J  for  the  two  years.  Many  were 
the  battles  between  Sheldon  and  Bloss,  first 
one  winning,  then  the  other,  and  the  contrast 
between  them  never  failed  to  arouse  the  inter- 
est of  the  crowd.  Sheldon  was  just  about  a  foot 
higher  than  Bloss,  and  to  watch  the  latter  tear- 
ing down  at  the  take-off,  with  all  his  tremendous 
speed,  and  then  to  watch  Sheldon's  mighty 
strides,  seeming  really  slow  and  deliberate  in 
comparison,  revealed  a  difference  in  method 
and  in  physical  make-up  too  striking  ever  to  be 
forgotten.  Sheldon,  like  his  rival,  was  a  most 


COLLEGE  DAYS  87 

versatile  athlete,  and  a  winner  of  the  national 
all-around  championship  in  1896.  The  broad 
jump  was  his  specialty,  but  he  could  perform 
with  better  than  average  ability  at  almost 
every  event  on  the  programme. 

In  1897  Remington  of  Pennsylvania  was  the 
winner,  and  then  came  the  days  of  Prinstein 
and  Kraenzlein,  —  a  meeting  of  two  veritable 
champions.  I  have  heard  the  question  dis- 
cussed again  and  again  as  to  which  was  really 
the  better  broad  jumper.  I  myself  should  not 
care  to  answer  it.  Prinstein  was  the  intercolle- 
giate champion  in  1898  and  1900,  winning  with 
jumps  of  23  feet  7|  and  23  feet  8.  Kraenzlein 
was  the  champion  in  1899,  when  he  established 
the  intercollegiate  record  of  24  feet  4|.  Prin- 
stein holds  the  American  record  of  24  feet  7|, 
and  won  the  Olympic  championship  at  St. 
Louis,  in  1904,  with  24  feet  and  1  inch,  and 
again  at  Athens,  in  1906,  with  23  feet  7J. 
Kraenzlein  was  Olympic  champion  at  Paris, 
in  1900,  winning  with  23  feet  6|.  Two  great 
jumpers,  —  so  great  that  there  seems  little  to 
be  gained  in  an  attempt  to  rank  one  of  them 
above  the  other. 

After  Prinstein's  last  win,  in  1900,  there  was 
a  dearth  of  similar  records  until  1904,  when 


88    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

Stangland  of  Columbia  cleared  23  feet  6J. 
The  next  year  also  saw  a  fine  performance 
when  Simons  of  Princeton  made  23  feet  2|, 
and  in  1906  and  1907  Knox  of  Yale  maintained 
the  standard  with  winning  jumps  of  23  feet 
4£  and  22  feet  10.  In  1908  Cook  of  Cornell 
won  with  22  feet  8,  and  in  1909  repeated  his 
win  with  a  jump  of  22  feet  6J.  In  1910,  Rob- 
erts of  Amherst  won  with  a  jump  of  22  feet  7J. 

Thus  the  list  of  the  college  broad  jumpers  re- 
veals a  group  of  notable  performers;  and  in  the 
companion  event,  the  running  high  jump,  the 
story  is  the  same.  Conover  of  Columbia,  who 
won  the  high  and  the  broad  jumps  in  both  1877 
and  1878,  has  already  been  spoken  of,  and  so 
has  Soren  of  Harvard,  who  won  in  1881  and 
1882.  In  1883  and  1884  C.  H.  Atkinson,  also 
of  Harvard,  won  with  the  good  jumps  of  5 
feet  8%  and  5  feet  9f . 

In  the  next  year,  1885,  appears  the  famous 
name  of  W.  Byrd  Page,  Jr.,  of  Pennsylvania. 
Page  not  only  won  the  intercollegiates  for  three 
years  in  succession,  but,  as  every  one  knows, 
accomplished  the  feat  of  jumping  6  feet  and 
4  inches,  which  still  stands  as  the  collegiate 
record,  and  with  the  single  exception  of  M.  F. 
Sweeney's  still  more  wonderful  performance, 


COLLEGE  DAYS  89 

has  stood  the  test  of  time,  unchallenged  in  open 
competition,  for  five-and-twenty  years. 

Page  passed  along  his  title  to  a  fellow  Penn- 
sylvanian,  I.  D.  Webster,  who  won  for  two 
years  in  succession,  and  then  comes  the  name 
of  that  famous  Harvard  athlete,  G.  R.  Fearing, 
Jr.,  who  succeeded  in  doing  in  the  high  jump 
what  Sherrill  of  Yale  had  already  accom- 
plished in  the  hundred  yards  —  winning  for 
four  consecutive  years,  with  the  fine  records  of 
5  feet  8J,  6  feet,  6  feet  1  inch,  and  5  feet  10J. 
In  1892  Fearing  showed  his  versatility  by 
winning  the  low  hurdles  as  well,  in  the  good 
time  of  25f . 

After  Fearing,  Paine  of  Harvard  and  Leslie 
of  Pennsylvania  each  held  the  title  for  a  year, 
and  then  came  another  famous  performer,  J. 
D.  Winsor,  Jr.,  of  Pennsylvania,  who  won  in 

1896  and  1897,  and  tied  for  first  in  1898.   In 

1897  Winsor  made  his  best  record,  6  feet  3,  a 
jump  only  once  exceeded  in  the  whole  list  of 
intercollegiate  meetings. 

From  Winsor's  time  on,  great  jumpers  have 
been  plenty.  In  1899  I.  K.  Baxter  of  Pennsyl- 
vania won  with  6  feet  2.  Baxter,  besides  being 
a  college  champion,  was  much  more  widely 
known  as  a  competitor  in  the  colors  of  the 


90    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

New  York  Athletic  Club.  He  was  four  times 
national  champion  in  the  high  jump,  won 
the  pole-vault  in  1889,  with  10  feet  and  9 
inches,  and  was  Olympic  champion,  at  Paris, 
in  1900,  with  a  jump  of  6  feet  2f . 

The  next  winner  had  a  record  almost  identi- 
cal with  Baxter's.  This  was  S.  S.  Jones  of  New 
York  University.  He  won  the  inter collegiates 
in  1900  and  1901;  he  also  competed  for  the 
New  York  Athletic  Club,  was  three  times  na- 
tional champion,  once  with  a  jump  of  6  feet  2, 
and  was  Olympic  champion,  at  St.  Louis,  in 
1904. 

Even  after  these  great  athletes,  three  other 
famous  names  still  remain  on  the  lists.  The 
first  of  these  is  that  of  R.  P.  Kernan,  of  Har- 
vard, one  of  the  finest  natural  athletes  who 
ever  stepped.  Kernan  was  another  man  of  the 
type  of  Fearing,  one  who  could  do  anything  in 
athletics  that  he  chose  to  turn  his  hand  to,  and 
could  do  it,  in  addition,  surpassingly  well. 
Half-back  on  the  eleven,  catcher  on  the  nine, 
and  then,  like  his  almost  equally  great  prede- 
cessor, C.  J.  Paine,  Jr.,  ready  to  step  coolly  out 
on  the  track,  in  time  of  need,  and  without 
practice,  casually  to  win  the  Yale  games  with  a 
jump  of  6  feet,  and  the  intercollegiates  with  a 


COLLEGE  DAYS  91 

jump  of  6  feet  1.  Before  ability  such  as  Ker- 
nan's  we  ordinary  mortals  can  only  shrug  our 
shoulders,  and  in  the  slang  of  the  day,  murmur 
disgustedly,  "Oh,  what's  the  use?" 

To  Kernan  succeeded  Marshall  of  Yale,  who 
won  in  1905  and  1906,  and  in  1907  had  his  great 
duel,  at  the  Harvard  Stadium,  with  Moffit  of 
Pennsylvania,  when  Moffit  won,  and  had  to 
break  the  intercollegiate  record  to  do  it,  clear- 
ing 6  feet  3J,  while  Marshall  finished  second, 
with  6  feet  2. 

Page,  Fearing,  Winsor,  Baxter,  Jones,  Ker- 
nan, Marshall,  Moffit,  —  search  a  long  time 
before  you  will  come  again  upon  such  a  list  of 
jumpers;  all  good  at  record-making,  and  all 
sterling  contestants  as  well,  doing  their  best 
when  their  best  was  needed,  and  forming  a 
group  to  challenge  comparison  with  the  world. 

From  the  lithe  and  active  men  who  have  be- 
come famous  through  their  skill  in  jumping,  it 
is  a  far  cry  to  the  sturdy  giants  who  have  been 
winners  with  the  weights  —  the  16-pound  shot 
and  the  16-pound  hammer.  Since,  in  the 
weights,  once  given  the  knack  of  the  event, 
strength  and  size  may  be  counted  upon  as  aids 
to  success  with  an  almost  mathematical  pre- 
cision, —  since,  in  the  sporting  phrase,  in  the 


92    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

hammer  and  shot,  "a  good  big  'un  will  always 
beat  a  good  little  'un,"  these  events  find  an 
added  interest  from  the  fact  that  among  the 
winners  are  found  many  of  the  men  who  have 
made  their  fame  secure,  in  line  or  backfield,  on 
the  "gridiron." 

In  the  shot-put,  almost  at  the  very  begin- 
ning of  the  list,  we  come  upon  the  name  of  F. 
Larkin  of  Princeton,  who  found  in  the  inter- 
collegiates  a  fertile  field  for  his  all-around  abili- 
ties. He  won  the  shot  in  1877,  and  in  1878  and 
1879  won  no  less  than  four  events  in  each  year 
—  the  shot,  the  hammer,  the  standing  high 
jump,  and  the  standing  broad.  His  best  record 
with  the  shot  was  33  feet  8},  made  in  1879. 

After  Larkin  came  another  three-year  win- 
ner, A.  T.  Moore  of  Stevens,  who  improved 
upon  Larkin's  figures,  and  in  1882  made  his 
best  record  of  36  feet  3.  And  then,  in  1886  and 
1887,  we  come  upon  the  name  of  A.  B.  Coxe  of 
Yale,  even  more  famous  as  a  hammer-thrower, 
but  a  giant  with  the  shot  as  well,  making  win- 
ning puts,  first  of  38  feet  9J,  and  then  of  40 
feet  9  J. 

After  Coxe,  came  Pennypacker  of  Harvard, 
then  the  mighty  Janeway  of  Princeton,  then 
Finlay  and  Evins  of  Harvard,  and  then  one 


COLLEGE  DAYS  93 

who  made  his  name  famous  for  all  time:  foot- 
ball player,  shot-putter,  hammer-thrower,  —  a 
champion  at  all  three, — W.  O.  Hickok  of  Yale. 
Hickok  won  the  shot  in  1893,  1894,  and  1895, 
with  puts  of  41  feet  j  inch,  42  feet  flat,  and  42 
feet  11|. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  impression  that 
Hickok's  physique  made  upon  me  when  he 
came  to  Cambridge  to  take  part  in  the  dual 
games  on  Holmes  Field.  There  have  been 
champions  who  did  not  look  the  part;  there 
have  been  champions  who  you  felt  might  some- 
how be  defeated;  but  Hickok  was  none  of  these. 
His  reputation  was  something  tremendous; 
even  his  name  in  print  used  to  make  shivers  run 
up  and  down  our  backs,  as  we  saw  those  five 
points  in  the  shot  and  the  five  more  in  the  ham- 
mer already  on  their  way  to  New  Haven.  I  do 
not  know  whether  Hickok  himself  quite  real- 
ized his  fame.  I  doubt  it.  Most  of  the  great 
athletes  I  have  known  have  been  exceptionally 
modest  men.  And  Hickok  seemed  to  take  his 
athletic  diversions  lightly,  almost  boyishly,  not 
with  the  strained  seriousness  that  has  character- 
ized so  many  champions.  The  call  for  his  event 
would  be  given;  he  would  come  jogging  across 
the  field,  his  favorite  shot,  slung  in  a  towel,  in 


94    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

his  hand.  His  name  would  be  called;  he  would 
step  into  the  circle,  poise  easily  for  a  moment, 
without  apparent  exertion — and  then,  a  short 
hop,  a  quick  turn  of  his  body,  and  the  contest 
was  over.  Somewhere  between  41  and  44  feet, 
—  it  did  n't  particularly  matter  where;  the  five 
points  were  gone,  and  we  could  only  say,  turn- 
ing our  faces  toward  the  future,  "Well,  some 
day  he's  got  to  graduate,  anyway."  It  was  a 
cheering  thought. 

Hickok  had  a  worthy  successor  in  "Dick" 
Sheldon,  brother  of  L.  P.  Sheldon,  of  broad- 
jump  and  all-around  fame.  Sheldon  won  in 
1896,  and  again  in  1901,  in  the  latter  year  with 
the  good  put  of  43  feet  9i.  In  1898  and  1899 
J.  C.  McCracken,  the  famous  Pennsylvania 
football  player,  was  the  winner,  with  43  feet 
8 J  and  42  feet  |  inch.  McCracken  was  about 
as  healthy  and  sturdy  a  specimen  as  I  have 
ever  beheld;  he  was  an  enthusiastic  athlete, 
went  into  things  with  a  will,  and  "got  results" 
in  a  most  unquestioned  manner. 

After  McCracken,  Beck  of  Yale  won  the 
event  three  times,  in  1900,  1902,  and  1903.  44 
feet  3  inches;  44  feet  8j  inches;  and  46  feet 
flat;  those  were  his  winning  puts,  and  the  last 
of  them  remained  as  the  intercollegiate  record 


COLLEGE  DAYS  95 

until  W.  F.  Krueger  of  Swarthmore,  succeeding 
to  Schoenfuss  and  Stephenson  of  Harvard,  and 
Porter  of  Cornell,  established,  in  1907,  the  pre- 
sent record  of  46  feet  5£.  Krueger  won  again 
in  1908,  and  in  1909  C.  C.  Little  of  Harvard,  a 
man  who  has  improved  steadily  all  through  his 
shot-putting  career,  made  his  best  record  by 
winning  with  a  put  of  46  feet  2,  defeating 
Krueger  by  nearly  a  foot.  In  1910  Homer  of 
Michigan  won  with  a  put  of  46  feet  4J. 

In  the  hammer-throw,  there  are  two  inter- 
esting things  to  be  noted  at  the  outset.  The 
first  Js  that  some  men  are  good  performers, 
both  with  the  shot  and  with  the  hammer,  while 
others,  though  gaining  a  thorough  mastery  over 
one  of  the  events,  fail  utterly  in  the  companion 
contest.  The  two  events,  indeed,  are  entirely 
dissimilar  in  principle:  one  is  a  push,  the  other 
a  pull;  and  the  man  who  excels  at  both  can 
never  be  accused  of  being  entirely  lacking  in 
"athletic  brains."  Thus  we  find  Coxe  and 
Hickok  of  Yale,  Finlay  and  Evins  of  Harvard, 
Woodruff  and  McCracken  of  Pennsylvania,  all 
double  winners  with  both  shot  and  hammer, 
while  Sheldon,  Beck,  Schoenfuss,  Stephenson, 
and  Krueger  all  distinguished  themselves  with 
the  shot  alone,  and  on  the  other  hand,  men 


96    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

like  Chadwick  of  Yale,  Flaw  of  California,  and 
De  Witt  of  Princeton,  achieved  their  greatest 
success  with  the  hammer  alone. 

Another  thing  of  interest  about  the  hammer 
throw  is  the  evolution,  both  of  the  hammer  it- 
self and  of  the  manner  of  throwing  it.  In  the 
old  days  the  hammer  was  an  iron  ball,  with  a 
stiff  wooden  handle,  and  was  thrown  from  a 
stand.  Then  the  rules  were  changed  so  as  to 
permit  the  athlete  to  throw  within  a  seven-foot 
circle,  turning  his  body  around  to  gain  addi- 
tional momentum.  After  this  the  head  of  the 
hammer  was  changed  from  iron  to  lead,  and  the 
handle  was  changed  to  the  thinnest  of  wires, 
with  a  double  grip,  in  shape  like  a  stirrup,  in- 
stead of  the  straight  handle  of  old  days. 
Finally,  with  the  appearance  of  John  Flanagan, 
the  double  turn  succeeded  to  the  single,  and 
then  the  triple  to  the  double,  so  that  with  all 
these  changes  and  improvements  the  records  of 
the  early  days  have  been  more  than  doubled  by 
the  skilled  performers  of  the  present. 

The  first  great  intercollegiate  hammer- 
thrower  was  A.  B.  Coxe  of  Yale,  already  men- 
tioned as  a  winning  shot-putter  as  well.  He 
achieved  the  same  distinction  in  the  hammer 
that  Sherrill  had  gained  in  the  hundred,  and 


COLLEGE  DAYS  97 

Fearing  in  the  high  jump,  winning  for  four  years 
in  succession,  with  records  constantly  improv- 
ing from  83  feet  2,  to  98  feet  6. 

In  1891,  Finlay  of  Harvard  threw  107  feet 
7  J  inches,  and  this  remained  as  the  record  un- 
til the  appearance,  two  years  later,  of  Hickok 
of  Yale.  Hickok  threw  110  feet  4|  inches,  in 
1893,  and  then  occurred  the  change  in  the  rules 
by  which  the  contestants  were  allowed  to  throw 
with  a  turn.  As  a  result,  the  records  began  im- 
mediately to  show  improvement.  In  1894 
Hickok  threw  123  feet  9  inches,  and  the  fol- 
lowing year  increased  his  distance  to  135  feet 
7j.  Then  came  Chadwick  of  Yale,  who  wonuj 
with  132  feet  6^,  and  then  Woodruff  of  Penn- 
sylvania, who  bettered  Hickok's  record  with  a 
throw  of  136  feet  3.^1 

No  hammer  record  was  long  safe,  however, 
in  these  days,  for  now  came  the  introduction 
of  the  double  turn,  and  the  next  year  Mc-q 
Cracken  of  Pennsylvania  threw  149  feet,  5 
inches,  and  won  again  the  year  following  with 
144  feet  1  inch. 

In  1900,  Plaw  of  California  raised  the  record 
again  to  154  feet  4£;  and  then  came  the  day 
of  the  man  who  was  to  share  with  Sherrill, 
Fearing,  and  Coxe  the  honor  of  being  a  four- 


98    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

time  winner,  —  J.  R.  De  Witt  of  Princeton. 
De  Witt  won  from  1901  to  1904  inclusive;  in 
1902  he  made  the  intercollegiate  record  of  164 
feet  10  inches,  which  stands  to-day,  and  also 
established  the  collegiate  record  of  166  feet  5.  A 
giant  in  strength,  and  a  master  of  the  art  of  the 
double  turn — surely  a  combination  hard  to  beat. 
Talbot  of  Cornell  won  in  1909,  with  158  feet  9j, 
and  Cooney  of  Yale  in  1910,  with  152  feet  5. 

In  the  pole-vault  the  improvement  has  been 
nearly  as  marked  as  in  the  hammer-throw.  The 
whole  method  of  performing  the  event  was  re- 
volutionized with  the  change  in  the  grip  of  the 
hands  —  the  lower  hand  sliding  up  until  the 
two  pulled  at  the  same  time  practically  as  one. 
Starting  in  the  first  year  of  the  intercollegiates 
with  a  record  of  7  feet  4,  by  Pryor  of  Colum- 
bia, Toler  of  Princeton  was  the  first  man  to 
reach  10  feet,  in  1883,  and  Stevens  of  Columbia 
the  first  man  to  exceed  it,  three  years  later, 
with  a  vault  of  10  feet  3  J.  Leavitt  of  Harvard 
and  Ryder  of  Yale  in  turn  improved  upon 
these  figures,  and  in  1895  Buchholz  of  Penn- 
sylvania cleared  the  great  height,  for  those 
days,  of  11  feet  8f .  In  1898,  Clapp  of  Yale 
and  Hoyt  of  Harvard  tied  at  11  feet  4j,  and  a 
year  later  Clapp  cleared  11  feet  5. 


WALTER  R.  DRAY 


COLLEGE  DAYS  99 

This  record  stood  until  1902,  when  Horton  of 
Princeton  did  11  feet  7,  figures  exactly  equaled 
the  year  following  by  Gardner  of  Syracuse,  and 
improved  to  11  feet  8f  in  1904,  by  McLana- 
han  of  Yale. 

In  recent  years,  Dray  and  Gilbert  of  Yale, 
and  Cook  of  Cornell,  have  been  three  famous 
vaulters,  while  in  1909  Campbell  of  Yale  made 
a  new  intercollegiate  record  of  12  feet  3-J,  and 
in  1910  Nelson  of  Yale  raised  the  figures  to  12 
feet  4f. 


CHAPTER  V 

<  THE  ALL-AROUND   CHAMPIONSHIP 

IT  was  from  James  E.  Morse,  in  1893,  that 
I  first  heard  of  the  all-around  championship. 
Morse  had  little  sympathy  with  the  athlete 
who  clings  to  one  specialty,  and  he  himself, 
practising  as  he  preached,  had  tried  every 
event  on  the  athletic  calendar.  At  the  time 
when  I  knew  him,  however,  his  athletic  career 
was  practically  ended,  and  though  a  fine  per- 
former for  his  weight  and  size,  he  was  never  of 
that  rugged  build  which  best  meets  the  de- 
mands of  all-around  competition.  Yet  though 
his  days  of  active  work  were  over,  his  interest 
was  still  as  keen  as  ever,  and  seeing  in  me,  I 
think,  a  possible  champion  in  embryo,  he 
made  haste  to  acquaint  me  with  the  history 
of  the  all-arounds. 

I  shall  never  forget  my  feelings  as  I  listened 
to  his  description  of  the  games.  They  attracted 
me,  in  the  first  place,  by  their  very  difficulty. 
Those  adventurers  who  seek  to  discover  either 
pole,  almost  invariably,  if  they  do  not  perish 


THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP   101 

in  their  search,  return  again  and  again  to  their 
quest.  They  have  encountered  hardship,  dan- 
ger, suffering;  their  sober  judgment  bids  them 
cease;  yet  imagination  conquers  in  the  end,  and 
the  lure  of  the  frozen  ice-fields  calls  to  them 
over  many  a  league  of  roaring  sea.  And  thus,  in 
lesser  degree,  the  all-arounds  were  my  tempta- 
tion. Truly,  the  outlook  was  staggering;  the 
prospect  of  success  seemed  infinitely  small.  For 
I  learned  that,  first  of  all,  the  contestants  must 
run  a  hundred  yards  on  time,  and  that  this  was 
followed  by  the  putting  of  the  shot,  and  by  the 
high  jump.  So  far,  so  good;  but  next  on  the 
programme  came  the  half-mile  walk,  and  the 
science  of  heel-and-toe  walking,  as  I  then  sus- 
pected, and  later  was  to  know  to  my  cost,  is  not 
a  thing  (excepting  on  the  part  of  the  spectators) 
to  be  treated  with  levity.  Then  followed,  in 
quick  succession,  the  hammer-throw,  the  pole- 
vault,  the  hurdle  race,  the  broad  jump,  the 
throwing  of  the  fifty-six-pound  weight,  and 
last  of  all  (I  was  infinitely  relieved  to  find  that 
there  was  a  last)  the  mile  run.  Here  was  a  test, 
indeed,  in  the  face  of  which  my  poor  list  of  ac- 
complishments seemed  pitifully  inadequate. 
For  while  I  was  a  high  jumper  of  perhaps  a 
little  less  than  average  ability,  and  while  I  had 


102    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

shown  some  aptitude  for  sprinting,  there  my 
knowledge  ceased.  Of  the  other  eight  events  I 
knew  nothing  at  all.  I  had  but  a  casual  nodding 
acquaintance  with  a  hammer,  and  a  fifty-six- 
pound  weight  I  had  never  seen.  To  balance  the 
scale  I  had  only  youth,  some  physical  qualifica- 
tions for  the  task,  and  above  all,  the  blessed 
optimism  of  inexperience.  Altogether,  the  at- 
tempt seemed  little  short  of  herculean. 

Besides  the  difficulties  it  presented,  one  other 
feature  of  the  all-arounds  attracted  me.  This 
was  the  method  of  scoring,  for  the  games  were 
not  a  contest,  in  the  accepted  meaning  of  the 
word,  but  resembled  rather  a  species  of  athletic 
examination  paper,  each  man,  whether  he  won 
or  lost,  being  marked  for  his  performance,  in 
each  event,  on  a  graded  scale.  Ten  thousand 
points  was  the  possible  maximum,  based  on  the 
possibility  of  a  man's  equaling  the  world's  re- 
cord in  each  of  the  ten  events.  Thus,  a  man 
who  ran  the  hundred  yards  in  record  time 
would  be  credited  with  a  thousand  points, 
while  at  the  other  end  of  the  scale  there  would 
be  an  arbitrary  minimum,  corresponding  to  a 
performance  so  poor  that  a  boy  of  ten  might 
have  equaled  it.  And  for  every  fraction  of  a 
second  between  these  two  extremes,  there  would 


THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP  103 

be  a  gain  or  loss  of  so  many  points.  There  was 
a  definiteness,  a  mathematical  exactness,  in 
this  method  of  measuring  one's  ability,  which 
impressed  me  greatly,  even  though  in  the  ma- 
jority of  the  events  I  could  see  the  empty 
zeros  staring  me  in  the  face.  There  appears  to 
be  a  feeling  curiously  akin  to  self-contentment 
in  being  at  the  very  foot  of  the  ladder.  "At 
least,"  we  say,  "this  cannot  well  be  worse.  We 
are  on  the  ground,  and  barring  earthquakes, 
we  cannot  go  much  lower.  And  perhaps,  little 
by  little,  a  rung  at  a  time,  we  may  some  day  go 
climbing  the  ladder  after  all." 

Besides  these  two  reasons,  there  was  a  third* 
more  important  still  —  the  associations  which 
even  the  name  of  the  event  calls  to  mind,  the 
glamour  of  the  list  of  famous  athletes  to  be 
found  from  the  very  beginning  on  its  rolls.  In 
the  first  year  in  which  the  championships  were 
held  the  winner  was  W.  R.  Thompson  of 
Montreal,  while  second  and  third  to  him  were 
Malcolm  W.  Ford  and  A.  A.  Jordan,  than 
whose  no  two  names,  perhaps,  have  ever  been 
more  famous  in  our  athletic  history.  Of  the 
three  men,  I  was  destined  to  meet  Thompson 
twelve  years  later,  in  Montreal.  I  had  gone 
there  to  compete  in  the  Canadian  champion- 


104    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

ships,  had  taken  part  in  five  events,  and  won 
three  seconds  and  a  third.  Coming  home  in  the 
car  from  the  grounds,  a  gentleman  leaned  across 
the  aisle  and  said  to  me:  "My  name  is  Thomp- 
son. I  was  watching  your  work  this  afternoon, 
and  I  think  some  day  you  ought  to  try  the  all- 
arounds.  It  seems  to  me  you  would  have  a 
chance  to  win."  To  some  people  in  the  world, 
the  simple  introduction,  "My  name  is  Thomp- 
son," might  not  at  once  have  revealed  the 
owner's  identity;  but  to  me  there  was  but  one 
Thompson  in  the  world,  and  all  the  rest  of  the 
way  back  to  the  hotel  I  kept  stealing  covert 
glances  at  the  man  who  had  been  a  champion  in 
his  day,  and  who  had  triumphed  over  Ford  and 
Jordan.  After  this,  Ford  was  to  win  the  title 
four  times,  and  Jordan  three,  so  that  up  to 
1895  these  two  giants  of  athletics  kept  the 
championship  well  guarded,  and  the  names  of 
M.  O'Sullivan  and  E.  W.  Goff  are  the  only 
others  to  be  bracketed  with  theirs.  Jordan  I 
saw  in  actual  competition;  Ford  I  met  in  1897; 
and  I  had  some  correspondence  with  him  later 
over  an  article  which  he  was  preparing  on  the 
measurements  of  all-around  athletes. 

Thus  the  time  had  come  when  I  must  make 
my  start;  for  no  one,  I  suppose,  has  ever  yet  be- 


MALCOLM  W.  FORD 


THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP   105 

come  an  athlete  merely  by  sitting  still  and 
thinking  about  it.  Not  that  I  would  be  misun- 
derstood. Thought  is  of  inestimable  value  in  all 
kinds  of  active  sport;  but  thought  alone  is  not 
enough.  There  must  be  added  the  rough-and- 
ready  stimulant  of  real  exercise.  Theory  is  in- 
valuable, but  it  must  have  practical  experience 
to  build  upon.  "There  must  be  bloody  noses 
and  cracked  crowns,"  —  always  figuratively, 
sometimes  literally  as  well.  And  thus  I 
plunged  headforemost  into  the  business  of 
learning  —  or  trying  to  learn — the  theory  and 
the  practice  of  athletic  sports. 

What  I  went  through  I  can  best  illustrate  by 
an  experience  from  another  branch  of  life.  I 
have  a  friend  who  owned  one  of  the  first  small 
motor-boats  in  use  in  Massachusetts  Bay.  He 
learned  to  run  her  in  the  cold,  hard  school  of 
practical  endeavor,  to  the  accompaniment  of 
aching  back  and  blistered  palms.  And  yet  ex- 
perience, though  a  hard  teacher,  is  a  thorough 
one  as  well,  and  behold,  as  the  years  passed, 
my  friend  waxed  great  in  knowledge,  until  to- 
day, lacking  the  title,  he  is  a  very  professor  of 
motor-boats.  There  is  not  a  refractory  engine 
in  the  town  in  which  he  lives  —  nay,  I  doubt  if 
one  exists  throughout  the  state  —  which  must 


106    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

not,  soon  or  late,  yield  to  the  magic  of  his  touch, 
and  whir  away  as  merrily  and  smoothly  as  the 
best.  And  yet,  when  the  other  day  I  paid  him  a 
compliment  upon  his  knowledge,  he  only  shook 
his  head.  "Something  of  what  you  say,"  he  re- 
plied, "is  true.  But  if  I  could  have  looked 
ahead  —  if  I  could  have  foreseen  the  damage  I 
should  do  to  body  and  mind,  and  I  fear  to  my 
immortal  soul  besides,  I  should  have  known  the 
day  I  bought  that  engine  to  be  the  most  tragic 
of  my  entire  life.  And  if  I  could  have  looked 
ahead  through  the  long,  weary  years,  the  day 
after  I  bought  the  engine  I  should  have  gone 
out  and  bought  an  axe." 

And  thus,  to  anticipate  a  little,  my  experi- 
ence in  athletics  was  to  be  somewhat  like  that 
of  my  unhappy  friend.  If  I  could  have  cast  a 
prophetic  glance  forward  through  the  years, 
and  have  seen  myself,  in  dim  perspective, 
learning  to  pole-vault,  learning  to  hurdle,  learn- 
ing to  throw  the  hammer,  learning  to  walk  (I 
seem,  unconsciously,  to  be  paraphrasing  the 
titles  of  the  "Hollo"  books),  I  am  sure  that  at 
the  sight  I  should  have  abandoned  the  strug- 
gle. My  very  blood  would  have  curdled,  and 
the  fires  of  enthusiasm  have  been  frozen  in  my 
veins.  But  the  veil  of  the  future,  mercifully 


THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP   107 

enough,  is  spread  before  us.  I  could  not  fore- 
see what  an  inapt  pupil  I  was  to  prove;  and 
so,  with  the  all-sufficing  ignorance  of  youth,  set 
hopefully  enough  to  work  upon  my  task. 

It  was  not  all  hard  work.  With  that  part  of 
the  programme  which  comprised  the  jumps,  I 
had  no  stupendous  difficulty.  I  could  high- 
jump  reasonably  well  already;  the  broad  jump 
was  one  of  the  few  events  which  seemed  to  come 
to  me,  as  it  were,  by  nature;  and  thus  there  was 
only  the  pole-vault  left.  And  to  all  beginners, 
who  may  be  tempted  to  despair  by  the  ignoble 
qualities  of  a  first  performance,  let  me  confess, 
not  without  a  blush  of  shame,  the  actual  height 
which  I  cleared  in  my  first  effort  at  the  vault  — 
4  feet  and  9  inches!  No  more,  no  less.  And  this 
is  no  flight  of  fancy,  but  actual  fact;  while  at 
this  very  time,  moreover,  in  an  ordinary  run- 
ning jump,  I  could  clear  in  the  vicinity  of  5j 
feet.  The  reason  was  not  far  to  seek.  I  had  not 
learned  to  trust  my  full  weight  to  the  pole,  or 
to  pull  upwards  with  my  arms.  In  consequence, 
the  pole,  instead  of  becoming  a  help,  served 
merely  to  encumber  me,  and  in  the  manner  in 
which  I  made  use  of  it,  was  worse  for  me  than 
no  aid  at  all.  Gradually,  however,  I  mastered 
the  theory  of  the  vault,  and  while  I  never  be- 


108    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

came  more  than  a  very  ordinary  performer,  was 
still  able  to  make  a  showing  not  altogether  bad. 

With  the  running  events,  there  were  more 
troubles  to  be  faced.  I  had  no  great  difficulty 
with  the  dash;  like  the  broad  jump,  it  seemed 
to  come  to  me  naturally.  The  mile  run  I  de- 
tested, —  not  so  much,  I  think,  on  account  of 
the  actual  effort  involved,  as  for  the  dreary 
monotony  of  circling  round  and  round  the 
track,  at  the  same  steady  jog.  It  failed  to  in- 
spire me,  I  was  loth  to  practise  it,  and  as  a  re- 
sult, my  performance  in  competition  was  ex- 
tremely bad.  The  hurdle  race  troubled  me  for 
a  time,  until  I  learned  the  lesson,  easy  to  say 
and  hard  to  put  in  practice,  that  the  race  was 
not  a  combination  of  running  and  jumping,  but 
a  running  event,  pure  and  simple,  with  the  hur- 
dles merely  so  many  obstacles,  to  be  cleared  in 
one's  stride.  Once  having  mastered  this  idea, 
the  rest  was  easy.  Once  or  twice,  indeed,  I  fell 
heavily,  and  filled  my  knees  with  cinders,  but 
on  the  whole  I  showed,  comparatively  speak- 
ing, quite  an  aptitude  for  the  event,  and 
learned  to  run  the  distance  at  what,  for  those 
days,  was  a  very  respectable  speed. 

But  with  the  half-mile  walk,  my  varied  ex- 
periences were  little  short  of  ludicrous.  To  the 


THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP  109 

uninitiated,  the  walking  of  a  half-mile  seems  a 
simple  thing;  but,  alas,  the  "walk"  of  athletics 
is  not  the  simple  thing  of  daily  life.  On  the  con- 
trary, it  is  a  deliberate  contortion  of  the  body 
with  which  Heaven  has  furnished  us;  a  gro- 
tesque parade  of  writhing  hips,  agonized  face 
and  brandished  arms;  a  spectacle  at  which  the 
lookers-on  are  moved  to  violent  laughter,  and 
the  performers  themselves  are  affected  to  the 
verge  of  tears.  I  shall  long  remember  my  faith- 
ful practice  at  the  old  Irvington  Street  Oval. 
Round  and  round  the  little  track  I  toiled,  while 
various  small  boys  reclined  at  ease  upon  the 
grass  outside,  and  cheered  me  with  friendly  en- 
couragement and  criticism.  "Go  it,  old  feller! 
You're  doin'  fine!"  "Ah,  he's  runnin'!" 
"Keep  it  up,  oP  ice-wagon!"  These  were  a  few 
of  the  less  insulting  comments,  and  it  took  all 
my  determination  to  persevere  in  the  face  of 
them.  Even  the  old-time  professional  whom  I 
finally  engaged  to  coach  me  was  unflatteringly 
free  with  his  judgment  upon  my  style.  He 
would  stand  and  watch  me,  as  I  circled  the 
track,  my  eyes  fixed  hopefully  upon  his  face,  to 
see  if  I  might  read  any  encouragement  there. 
Alas !  I  never  did.  He  would  shake  his  head  im- 
patiently. "You  don't  walk  natural,"  he  would 


110    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

object;  and,  indeed,  I  felt  my  only  crumb  of 
comfort  to  be  in  the  thought  that  if  I  were 
walking  "natural,"  I  should  be  in  a  very  bad 
way  indeed.  A  week  later,  hoping  vainly  for  a 
word  of  praise,  I  asked  him  if  he  could  not  see 
some  improvement.  He  gazed  at  me  with  con- 
tracted brows.  "Like  to  enter  you  at  a  cake- 
walk,"  he  grimly  responded;  "we'd  get  a  prize 
there,  anyway";  and  with  that  I  must  be  con- 
tent. But  my  crowning  humiliation  was  still  to 
come,  and  though  I  should  not  disturb  the 
chronology  of  my  efforts  by  telling  of  it  here, 
it  is  a  story  that  I  am  always  glad  to  have  out 
of  the  way.  , 

It  was  two  years  later  that  I  competed  for 
the  national  all-around  championship  for  the 
first  time.  All  went  well  until  the  half-mile 
walk  was  reached.  There  were  nine  starters, 
and  I  had  a  dismal  foreboding,  as  I  toed  the 
scratch,  concerning  the  position  I  should  oc- 
cupy at  the  conclusion  of  the  race.  I  was  en- 
tirely correct  in  my  surmise.  The  other  eight 
contestants  had  all  finished  when  I  came  toiling 
up  the  stretch,  weary,  hot,  exhausted,  and  with 
the  painful  consciousness  that  I  was  making  an 
egregious  fool  of  myself.  As  I  passed  the 
crowded  grand-stand,  a  little  girl  leaned  for- 


THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP  111 

ward  from  the  front  row,  and  in  her  childish 
treble,  piped]  out,  with  a  certain  delighted 
wonder  in  her  tone,  "Oh,  mother,  just  look  at 
this  one  coming!"  There  was  a  delighted  roar 
from  the  grand-stand,  and  my  cheeks,  as  I 
toiled  on,  flushed  even  redder  than  before. 
;  Nor  were  difficulties  lacking  in  the  weight 
events.  The  knack  of  the  shot-put  I  acquired 
gradually,  and  since  the  principle  of  throwing 
the  fifty-six-pound  weight  is  fundamentally  the 
same  as  that  of  the  hammer-throw,  once  suc- 
cessful with  the  latter,  I  had  no  trouble  with 
the  heavier  missile.  But  the  hammer  itself! 
Words  alone  are  inadequate  to  tell  of  my  trials. 
My  first  attempt  to  throw  it  was  in  my  Fresh- 
man year  in  college.  I  picked  it  up  on  Holmes 
Field,  and  guilelessly  asked  a  friend  to  give  me 
some  idea  of  the  knack  of  throwing  it.  He  told 
me  that  the  two  essentials  were  to  swing  it 
rapidly,  and  at  a  considerable  height  from  the 
ground.  I  prefer  to  think  he  was  merely  ignor- 
ant. However  that  may  have  been,  the  advice 
was  like  the  famous  coaching  of  Mr.  Verdant 
Green,  "Dip  your  oar  in  deep,  and  bring  it  out 
with  a  jerk."  I  braced  my  feet,  and  swung  man- 
fully, and  when  the  hammer  was  going  at  what 
seemed  to  me  lightning  speed,  essayed  to  turn. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

The  result  was  little  short  of  volcanic.  I  can 
only  describe  what  occurred  from  the  testi- 
mony of  disinterested  bystanders.  They  said 
that  I  dove  headlong  through  space,  like  a  man 
attempting  to  fly.  One  classmate,  with  a  taste 
for  rhetoric,  wrote  a  daily  theme  on  the  occur- 
rence, under  the  caption,  "The  greatest  acro- 
batic feat  of  modern  times."  I  should  have 
liked  to  witness  the  performance  myself,  but 
that  is  a  privilege  denied  to  the  protagonist.  In 
any  event,  even  if  they  exaggerated  a  trifle  in 
other  particulars,  I  am  sure  they  spoke  only 
the  truth  when  they  told  me  that  the  first  por- 
tion of  my  anatomy  to  reach  the  ground,  after 
my  brief  ascension,  was  the  back  of  my  neck.  I 
am  confident  of  it.  It  was  not  merely  conjec- 
ture. I  had  the  proofs  upon  my  person  for  a 
week. 

At  length  I  rose,  and  somewhat  dizzily  looked 
about  me.  Many  a  time  since  then  I  have  seen 
some  hapless  golfer  make  a  tremendous  lunge 
at  his  ball,  and  misled  by  the  force  of  his  stroke, 
at  first  gaze  hopefully  away  into  the  far  dis- 
tance; then,  half  doubtfully,  nearer  and  nearer 
home;  and  finally,  with  a  changing  countenance 
pitiful  to  behold,  look  down  at  his  feet  to  see  the 
little  ball  still  peacefully  reposing  there,  un- 


THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP   113 

touched  and  unharmed.  My  experience  was 
much  the  same.  Something  had  been  travel- 
ing at  great  speed;  that  I  knew;  and  I  supposed 
it  to  have  been  the  hammer.  I  resembled  the 
old  lady  who  took  her  first  ride  on  a  railway 
train,  and  when  the  train  ran  off  the  track,  was 
the  only  passenger  who  remained  perfectly 
calm  and  unafraid.  "I  s'posed,"  she  said  after- 
wards, "that  was  the  way  the  pesky  thing  al- 
ways stopped."  Thus  I  think  that  I  at  first  ac- 
cepted my  somewhat  muddled  condition  as  one 
of  the  regular  incidents  of  the  hammer- throw. 
But  when  [I  had  gazed  around  the  field,  and 
then,  as  my  vision  gradually  cleared,  at  last 
perceived  the  hammer,  which  had  torn  an  ugly 
gash  in  the  smooth  green  turf,  lying  only  a  few 
yards  away;  when  I  turned  toward  the  "bleach- 
ers" and  beheld  the  spectators  there  still  dou- 
bled up  and  helpless  with  merriment,  my  in- 
jured feelings  overcame  me.  I  shall  make  no 
attempt  here,  with  the  aid  of  dots  and  dashes, 
to  reproduce  my  remarks.  They  were  suffi- 
ciently lurid,  and  I  blush  even  to-day  at  re- 
calling them.  Youth  is  an  intemperate  season; 
and  yet  I  think  there  was  some  shadow  of  ex- 
cuse, after  all. 
The  burned  child  dreads  the  fire,  and  for 


114    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN,  ATHLETE 

weeks  I  could  not  look  upon  a  hammer  without 
a  shudder.  Yet  a  little  later  manlier  feelings 
asserted  themselves.  I  spent  my  summer  vaca- 
tions at  the  sea-shore  where,  among  many  other 
pleasant  and  delightful  things,  there  was  a  long, 
level  beach  of  smooth  white  sand.  Surveying 
this  one  day,  it  struck  me  as  an  excellent  bat- 
tle-ground whereon  to  renew  my  contest  with 
my  enemy.  The  day  after,  I  purchased  a  ham- 
mer. The  day  after  that  —  I  need  not  say  how 
cautiously  —  I  began  my  campaign.  One  eye 
I  kept  always  on  that  hammer.  I  really  think 
that  I  almost  endowed  it,  in  my  mind,  with 
life,  as  a  kind  of  malignant  devil,  that  might  at 
any  moment  take  me  unawares,  striking  me 
in  the  back  of  the  neck,  or  inserting  itself  be- 
tween my  feet,  and  hurling  me  prone  to  the 
earth.  Yet  gradually,  with  infinite  patience 
and  endeavor,  I  discovered  that  I  was  begin- 
ning to  master  the  art.  And  one  day,  in  a  great 
illumination  of  understanding,  I  perceived  the 
theory  of  the  throw,  and  putting  it  into  prac- 
tice, achieved  a  distance  beyond  the  Harvard 
record  itself.  I  went  around  for  the  rest  of  that 
day  in  a  kind  of  blissful  daze,  wondering  if  I 
could  ever  repeat  that  throw  in  actual  competi- 
tion, and  vindicate  myself  for  my  first  defeat. 


JOHN  FLANAGAN 


THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP   115 

October  came  at  last,  and  with  it  the  holding  of 
the  'Varsity  games,  and  my  opportunity.  My 
long  practice  had  its  reward,  and  with  a  throw 
of  123  feet  and  7  inches,  I  shattered  the  College 
record  by  a  dozen  feet. 

Such,  in  brief,  were  a  few  of  my  trials  in  pre- 
paring for  the  all-arounds.  I  have  said,  half- 
jestingly,  that  could  I  have  looked  ahead  and 
foreseen  them,  I  should  never  have  ventured  to 
persevere.  But  in  reality  I  suppose  that  this  is 
not  true.  "  'T  is  not  in  mortals  to  command 
success";  but  to  make  the  effort  —  that  is  the 
common  privilege  of  all.  I  was  speaking  the 
other  day  to  a  famous  physician  of  the  growing 
practice  of  a  younger  member  of  the  profession. 
He  nodded  a  little  grimly.  "It's  all  right,"  he 
said,  "as  long  as  it  doesVt  all  come  too  easily. 
A  man,  in  this  world,  ought  to  work  for  every- 
thing he  gets."  And  while,  from  his  point  of 
view,  the  work  was  a  means  to  an  end,  that  end 
being  success  in  the  eye  of  the  world,  the  most 
beautiful  of  modern  writers  has  gone  further 
still,  believing  that  work,  rightly  done,  is  suc- 
cess, no  matter  how  it  may  be  judged  by  mortal 
eyes.  Let  us  turn  once  more  to  "Virginibus 
Puerisque,"  and  there  read  again:  "O  toiling 
hands  of  mortals !  O  unwearied  feet,  traveling 


116    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

you  know  not  whither!  Soon,  soon,  it  seems  to 
you,  you  must  come  forth  on  some  conspicuous 
hill-top,  and  but  a  little  way  further,  against 
the  setting  sun,  descry  the  spires  of  El  Dorado. 
Little  do  ye  know  your  own  blessedness;  for  to 
travel  hopefully  is  a  better  thing  than  to  arrive, 
and  the  true  success  is  to  labor." 

In  the  summer  of  1895  I  entered  my  first 
all-around  competition  —  the  championship 
of  New  England.  In  a  number  of  ways  the  con- 
test was  a  noteworthy  one.  There  were  four 
competitors  —  L.  A.  (familiarly  known  as 
"Lenny")  Carpenter  of  Wakefield,  "Dan" 
Long  and  myself  from  the  B.  A.  A.,  and  F.  H. 
Brigham  of  Worcester.  In  size  and  build  we 
varied  about  as  widely  as  four  men  in  an  all- 
around  championship  well  could.  Carpenter, 
at  one  extreme  of  the  scale,  was  one  of  the  few 
small  men  who  ever  contrived  to  make  a  suc- 
cess of  such  a  programme.  I  do  not  think  he 
weighed  over  a  hundred  and  forty-five  at  the 
outside,  yet  he  was  experienced,  cool-headed, 
and  resourceful,  possessing  the  temperament 
which  excels  in  active  competition .  The  weight  s 
would  naturally  have  been  his  weakest  point, 
yet  he  had  made  such  a  careful  study  of  ath- 


THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP  117 

letics  that  his  excellence  in  form  made  up  in 
great  measure  for  his^deficiency  in  power;  he 
performed  fairly  well  with  the  hammer  and 
fifty-six,  and  in  the  shot  achieved  a  distance 
creditable  to  a  man  of  any  weight  and  size. 

I  ranked  next  to  the  bottom  in  point  of 
build.  I  weighed  about  a  hundred  and  seventy 
pounds,  and  as  I  can  best  recall  myself,  was  a 
rather  awkward,  loose-jointed  performer,  un- 
skilled in  thorough  knowledge  of  athletics,  a 
little  inclined  to  be  diffident  and  nervous,  yet 
somehow,  at  the  same  time,  managing  to  ac- 
complish fair  results  without  any  very  clear 
idea  of  how  I  gained  them. 

"Dan"  Long  was  next  above  me  in  the  mat- 
ter of  size.  He  was  a  magnificent  specimen  of  a 
man.  He  stood  about  six  feet,  and  weighed 
close  to  one  hundred  and  ninety  pounds.  Once, 
I  remember,  in  the  B.  A.  A.  club-house,  he  sud- 
denly caught  hold  of  me,  pinioning  my  arms  to 
my  sides,  and  although  I  was  in  constant  train- 
ing, and,  I  think,  of  average  strength,  I  might 
exactly  as  well  have  been  a  month-old  baby. 
His  muscles  were  iron;  his  strength  incredibly 
great.  I  think,  indeed,  that  a  finer  natural  all- 
around  athlete  than  Dan  Long  never  stepped 
upon  this  earth.  What  he  would  have  accom- 


118    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

plished  had  he  chosen  to  make  of  sport  prac- 
tically a  profession,  as  so  many  of  our  "ama- 
teurs "  do  to-day,  I  can  only  guess.  But  Long, 
though  a  thorough  lover  of  athletics,  took  them 
as  recreation  merely.  He  worked  hard  for  his 
living,  and  much  of  his  work  had  to  be  done  at 
night.  Under  such  conditions  it  was  hardly 
possible  for  him  ever  to  be  in  the  very  pink  of 
physical  condition;  nor  did  he  have  the  leisure 
to  make  of  the  study  of  athletics  a  fine  art.  To 
watch  him  at  the  high  jump  showed  his  method, 
or  lack  of  it,  to  perfection.  Here  was  none  of 
the  careful  measuring  of  the  run,  the  exact  pos- 
turing, the  almost  mathematical  precision  of 
the  man  who  has  spent  hours  in  calculating  the 
best  method  of  clearing  the  bar.  Long,  on  the 
contrary,  would  measure  the  height  for  a  mo- 
ment with  his  eye,  run  blithely  down  at  the 
take-off,  and  jump.  That  was  all  there  was  to 
it.  But  what  a  splendid  jump  it  was  —  clear 
spring,  no  hitching  or  contortion  of  the  body, 
just  the  natural  bound  of  the  natural  jumper  — 
and  it  was  good  for  close  to  six  feet.  Whenever 
I  think  of  Long's  manner  of  performing,  I  am 
reminded  of  the  story  (which,  by  the  way,  is 
true)  told  of  Peter  O'Connor,  the  great  Irish 
broad  jumper.  At  the  Olympic  games  in 


THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP  119 

Athens,  in  1906,  some  one  asked  him  if  there 
was  any  special  method  to  his  jump.  "Well," 
answered  O'Connor,  half -doubtfully,  "ye  see, 
I  have  a  mark  at  so  far  back,  and  another  mark 
beyond  that.  I  hit  the  first  mark  easy  like;  then 
I  run  harder  for  the  near  one;  and  when  I'm 
after  hitting  that,  I  go  for  all  that 's  in  me,  and 
about  four  steps  from  the  take-off  I  shut  my 
eyes,  and  put  my  trust  in  God." 

Brigham  of  Worcester,  the  fourth  man  of 
the  field,  was  far  and  away  the  biggest  of  the 
lot.  He  must  have  weighed  over  two  hundred 
pounds,  but  like  me,  he  lacked  experience  in 
many  of  the  events,  and  even  in  the  weights 
where  he  should  have  scored  most  heavily,  his 
lack  of  form  prevented  him  from  putting  his 
full  strength  into  play. 

Long  was  really  the  logical  winner  of  the 
event.  If  the  four  of  us  had  stood  in  line,  and 
any  experienced  trainer  had  been  asked  to  select 
the  best  man  of  the  four,  no  one,  I  think,  could 
have  failed  to  select  Dan  Long  as  the  man.  And 
yet,  with  all  his  other  qualifications,  he  had 
one  event  in  which  he  was  woefully  weak.  This 
was  the  pole-vault.  I  do  not  think  his  failure  to 
master  the  art  was  due  to  any  lack  of  aptitude, 
but  it  was  rather  owing  to  a  perfectly  natural 


120    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

distaste  (since  he  was  a  married  man,  with  a 
wife  and  children  dependent  on  him)  for  tak- 
ing chances  in  an  event  which  is  truly  danger- 
ous to  life  and  limb.  Thus  he  never  practised 
the  vault,  and  even  in  competition  he  went  at 
the  bar  gingerly,  with  none  of  the  snap  and  dash 
which  marked  his  work  in  the  other  events. 
And  while,  on  the  day  of  the  all-arounds,  he 
performed  splendidly  at  almost  everything 
else,  and  half  way  through  the  event,  had  a 
comfortable  lead  over  the  rest  of  the  field,  yet 
when  the  pole-vault  was  reached,  he  did  but 
seven  feet,  while  the  rest  of  us  did  nearly  two 
feet  higher,  and  the  enormous  difference  in 
points — in  the  neighborhood  of  four  hundred 
—  was  too  great  for  him  to  overcome.  Just 
once,  indeed,  by  his  splendid  work  with  the 
fifty-six,  he  temporarily  regained  the  lead,  but 
Carpenter  in  turn  defeated  him  in  the  broad 
jump  and  the  mile,  and  finally  finished  a  winner 
by  a  hundred  points,  while  I  was  another  hun- 
dred behind  Long. 

I  have  called  the  competition  a  noteworthy 
one  in  some  respects.  And  this  is  perfectly  true. 
In  the  first  place,  it  was  remarkable  as  a  con- 
test; I  cannot  recall  another  all-around  where 
three  men  finished  such  a  slight  distance  apart, 


THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP   121 

and  where  the  winner  was  actually  in  doubt 
until  the  very  last  event  of  all.  In  the  second 
place,  and  much  more  remarkable,kwas  the  good 
scoring.  Carpenter  made  5850  points;  Long 
5756;  I  made  5645,  and  Brigham  5409.  I  can 
recall  very  few  all-arounds,  sectional  or  na- 
tional, where  four  competitors  made  such  even 
scores  of  such  high  average  quality. 

Some  of  the  individual  performances,  too, 
were  remarkably  good.  Carpenter's  37  feet  and 
11  inches  in  the  shot  was  first-class  for  an  all- 
around  competition;  Long  and  I  tied  at  5  feet 
7|  in  the  high  jump ;  Long  threw  116  feet  10 
with  the  hammer,  and  27  feet  11  with  the 
fifty-six.  But  the  two  best  showings  were  in 
the  broad  jump  and  the  mile.  Carpenter 
cleared  21  feet  10i  inches  in  the  broad  jump, 
I  was  an  inch  and  a  half  behind,  and  Long  did 
20  feet  and  7  inches.  This  was  close  to  cham- 
pionship work,  and  was  done,  it  must  always  be 
remembered,  after  eight  other  events,  including 
the  half-mile  walk.  Brigham  ran  the  mile  in 
5  minutes,  9|  seconds,  and  I  believe  I  am  cor- 
rect in  saying  that  no  other  man,  in  an  all- 
around  competition,  ever  ran  such  a  mile, 
before  or  since.  And  considering  Brigham's 
gigantic  build,  the  feat  seems  more  wonderful 


122    REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

still.  His  record,  I  think,  will  stand  for  years 
to  come. 

A  month  later  the  national  all-rounds  were 
held  in  New  Jersey.  Carpenter  and  Long  both 
went  on  to  them,  and  as  I  could  not  see  where  I 
had  a  chance  to  win,  I  concluded  to  stay  at 
home.  It  proved  to  be  a  fortunate  decision,  for 
the  contest  was  wholly  disappointing.  It  was  a 
day  of  driving  wind,  with  a  steady  downpour  of 
rain.  Good  performances  were  impossible; 
Long  quit  the  struggle  in  disgust,  and  Carpen- 
ter, continuing,  was  beaten  by  Cosgrave,  of 
New  York,  who  won  with  the  lowest  total  ever 
recorded  for  first  place  in  the  all-arounds,  4406 
points.  The  conditions  can  be  imagined  from 
Carpenter's  score,  4078;  nearly  2000  below  his 
winning  record  in  the  New  Englands.  I  was 
glad  enough  that  I  had  stayed  at  home. 

Thus  ended  my  first  experience  with  the  all- 
arounds.  I  had  been  defeated,  almost  as  a 
matter  of  course.  But  that  did  not  discourage 
me  in  the  slightest  degree.  I  had  never  expected 
to  win,  and  at  least  I  had  the  consolation  of 
knowing  that  I  had  been  beaten  by  athletes  of 
vastly  greater  experience  than  myself.  I  had 
gained,  moreover,  much  valuable  knowledge.  I 
had  been,  as  it  were,  under  fire;  had  gone 


THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP   123 

through  the  long  programme  without  fatigue; 
and  if,  with  the  exception  of  the  broad  jump, 
there  was  nothing  of  real  brilliance  about  my 
performances,  still  on  the  other  hand  there  was 
nothing,  with  the  possible  exception  of  the 
mile,  which  could  be  called  really  bad.  And  so, 
with  a  good  heart,  I  made  up  my  mind  to 
strengthen  the  weak  places,  and  to  try  again 
another  year. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   OLYMPIC   GAMES   OF   1896 

THROUGH  the  summer  and  autumn  of  1895  the 
papers,  from  time  to  time,  would  speak  of  the 
project,  then  on  foot,  for  a  revival  of  the  Olym- 
pic games,  at  Athens,  in  the  spring  of  the  fol- 
lowing year.  And  yet,  rather  curiously  as  it 
seems  to  us  now,  in  view  of  the  excessive  excite- 
ment of  recent  years,  there  was  little  interest  in 
America  over  the  plan,  and  it  was  not  until  the 
winter  of  1896  that  the  B.  A.  A.  decided  to  send 
a  team  to  the  games. 

The  whole  idea  sprang  from  a  chance  remark 
uttered  in  jest.  At  the  club's  annual  games  in 
January,  Arthur  Blake,  our  best  distance- 
runner,  won  the  thousand  yards,  after  a  spec- 
tacular finish  and  in  very  good  time.  After  the 
race  Mr.  Burnham,  one  of  Blake's  friends  and 
a  prominent  member  of  the  club,  was  congratu- 
lating him  on  his  showing,  and  Blake  laughingly 
answered:  "Oh,  I'm  too  good  for  Boston.  I 
ought  to  go  over  and  run  the  Marathon,  at 
Athens,  in  the  Olympic  games." 


THE  OLYMPIC  GAMES  OF  1896     125 

Mr.  Burnham  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  in 
silence,  and  then:  "Would  you  really  go  if  you 
had  the  chance?"  he  asked. 

"Would  I,"  Blake  returned,  with  emphasis; 
and  from  that  moment  Mr.  Burnham  made  up 
his  mind,  if  it  could  be  brought  about,  that  the 
B.  A.  A.  should  send  a  team  to  the  games. 

A  month  later  everything  was  definitely  de- 
cided upon.  The  team  was  to  consist  of  five 
men,  —  T.  E.  Burke  for  the  hundred  and  four 
hundred  metre  runs;  Blake  for  the  mile  and  the 
Marathon;  W.  W.  Hoyt  for  the  pole-vault;  T. 
P.  Curtis  for  the  hundred  metres  and  the  hur- 
dles; and  myself  for  the  high  and  broad  jumps. 
John  Graham,  the  B.  A.  A.  trainer,  was  to  be 
in  charge  of  the  team.  In  the  meantime, 
Princeton  University  had  decided  to  send  a 
team  of  four  men,  —  Garrett,  Tyler,  Lane,  and 
Jamison,  —  and  James  B.  Connolly,  now 
widely  known  as  a  writer  of  Gloucester  fishing 
stories,  took  the  trip  upon  his  own  account,  re- 
presenting the  Suffolk  Athletic  Club,  and  trav- 
eling in  company  with  the  team  from  the 
B.  A.  A. 

There  remained  for  me  one  obstacle  to  be 
overcome.  The  others  were  their  own  masters, 
but  I  was  still  in  college  —  this  was  in  my  senior 


126  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

year  —  and  my  going  was  wholly  dependent 
upon  the  consent  of  the  authorities.  I  went  to  see 
Dean  Briggs  at  once,  and  pleaded  my  cause  with 
what  eloquence  I  possessed.  He  was  pleasant 
and  fair  about  the  whole  matter,  telling  me 
that  he  realized  what  an  opportunity  it  was, 
and  that  he  would  like  nothing  better  than  to 
grant  me  permission;  but  that  on  the  other 
hand,  it  was  a  long  trip;  that  it  would  necessi- 
tate a  break  in  all  my  college  work;  and  that, 
upon  the  whole,  he  thought  that  he  had  better 
take  my  case  under  advisement,  and  give  me  a 
decision  as  soon  as  possible.  Half-hoping,  half- 
fearing,  I  left  him.  Two  or  three  days  later 
I  entered  my  room  to  find  his  letter  awaiting 
me.  I  drew  a  long  breath,  tried  to  fortify  my 
mind  against  disappointment,  and  opened  the 
note.  The  first  sentence  was  enough.  "After 
careful  deliberation  I  have  decided  to  let  you 
go  to  Greece."  I  gave  a  shout  that  could  have 
been  heard,  I  believe,  half  way  to  Boston. 
And  from  that  day  to  this  I  have,  "in  my  ori- 
sons," never  forgotten  the  kindness  of  the 
Dean.  It  was  no  small  thing  to  ask;  my  fate 
lay  wholly  in  his  hands;  and  his  approval  gave 
me  an  opportunity  which  could  not,  as  things 
turned  out,  have  come  again  in  a  lifetime. 


THE  OLYMPIC  GAMES  OF  1896     127 

On  the  20th  of  March,  with  a  few  friends  at 
the  station  to  bid  us  farewell,  we  left  for  New 
York ;  not  one  of  us,  it  is  safe  to  say,  even  dream- 
ing of  the  sight  that  same  station  would  pre- 
sent some  two  months  later  upon  our  return. 
At  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning  we  had  em- 
barked on  the  North  German  Lloyd  steamship 
Fulda,  and  had  fairly  set  sail  for  the  un- 
known. 

Our  first  thought,  of  course,  was  to  keep  in 
good  condition  during  the  voyage,  and  to  ac- 
complish this  we  at  once  cast  about  us  for  the 
best  means  of  getting  our  daily  exercise.  The 
captain,  after  a  single  glance  at  our  spiked  shoes, 
promptly  forbade  their  use  upon  his  much- 
prized  decks;  yet  rubber-soled  gymnasium 
shoes  did  nearly  as  well,  and  every  afternoon 
we  put  on  our  running  clothes,  and  practised 
sprinting,  hurdling  and  jumping  on  the  lower 
deck.  My  own  specialty  —  the  high  jump  — - 
was  rendered  particularly  interesting  by  the 
pitching  and  rolling  of  the  vessel.  It  all  de- 
pended upon  whether  you  left  the  deck  at  the 
moment  when  the  vessel  was  bound  up  or  down. 
If  the  former,  about  two  feet  was  the  limit  you 
might  attain;  if  the  latter,  there  came  the  glori- 
ous sensation  of  flying  through  space;  a  world's 


128  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE  ^ 

record  appeared  to  be  surpassed  with  ease;  and 
one's  only  fear  was  of  overstaying  one's  time 
in  the  air,  and  landing,  not  on  the  decks  again, 
but  in  the  furrow  of  the  wake  astern. 

The  best  of  weather  favored  us;  each  day  the 
air  grew  more  balmy;  the  Azores  were  reached 
and  passed,  and  on  March  30th  we  landed  at 
Gibraltar.  So  much  of  interest,  after  our  days 
on  shipboard,  there  was  to  see!  The  towering 
rock,  with  its  loopholes;  the  English  soldiers, 
with  their  crisp,  incisive  speech;  the  Highland- 
ers; the  Spanish  troops,  over  across  the  way; 
the  market;  the  white- walled  houses. 

Yet  we  had  scant  time,  after  all,  "for  to  ad- 
mire and  for  to  see."  Ours  was  no  mere  pleasure 
trip;  our  goal  still  lay  beyond  us,  and  to  reach  it 
in  the  best  shape  possible  —  that  was  our  first 
thought.  After  the  ground  had  ceased,  a  little, 
to  rock  beneath  our  feet,  and  the  houses  stood 
bolt  upright,  as  they  should,  instead  of  reeling 
dizzily  from  side  to  side,  we  made  our  way  out  to 
a  race-track,  a  little  beyond  the  town,  and  there 
put  on  our  spikes  and  did  our  first  real  work 
since  leaving  home.  The  hardest  work,  of 
course,  fell  upon  Blake,  who  had  his  long  grind 
of  twenty-five  miles  always  before  him.  And  so, 
after  the  rest  of  us  had  done  our  work  and  taken 


THE  OLYMPIC  GAMES  OF  1896     129 

our  seats  in  luxury  in  our  carriages  for  a  drive 
around  the  town,  Blake,  to  test  his  wind  and 
stamina,  elected  to  run  behind.  Nor  did  he 
take  his  pleasure  sadly.  From  time  to  time,  as 
we  passed  groups  of  small  ragamuffins  standing 
beside  the  road,  Blake,  who  possessed,  to- 
gether with  a  sense  of  humor,  histrionic  ability 
to  a  marked  degree,  would  stoop  and  pretend 
to  pick  coins  from  the  dust  behind  the  car- 
riages, shouting  delightedly  the  while.  The 
small  boys  were  easy  victims;  we,  from  the  car- 
riages, did  our  best  to  encourage  the  deception; 
and  Blake,  pursued  by  the  barefooted  hunt, 
came  gloriously  along  in  our  rear,  producing  an 
effect  almost  equal  to  the  real  Marathon, which 
was  yet  to  come. 

We  left  the  steamer  at  Naples,  and  then  be- 
gan a  tiresome  journey.  Across  Italy  to  Brindisi, 
thence  by  boat  to  Patras,  then  another  long 
day's  journey  by  rail — and  finally,  on  the  even- 
ing of  April  5th,  we  caught  our  first  glimpse  of 
the  Acropolis,  and  knew  that  our  journey  east- 
ward was  at  an  end.  The  next  day  marked  the 
opening  of  the  games,  and  tired  with  travel  as 
we  were,  our  first  thought  was  to  get  quietly  to 
the  hotel  and  rest.  Yet  no  such  fortune  as  that 
awaited  us.  The  streets  were  thronged  with 


130  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

people.  There  was  a  brass  band  of  many 
pieces  welcoming  us  insistently,  overwhelm- 
ingly. Banners  —  blue  and  gold  for  the  B.  A. 
A.;  orange  and  black  for  Princeton  —  were 
waving  above  the  crowd;  as  if  by  magic,  a  pro- 
cession formed;  we  found  ourselves  engulfed, 
marched  away,  —  we  knew  not  whither,  — 
and  the  quiet  of  the  hotel  became  a  distant 
dream. 

It  was  at  some  building  of  governmental  sig- 
nificance that  we  finally  arrived.  Our  welcome 
was  magnificent.  There  were  speeches  —  cor- 
dial, we  had  no  doubt;  lengthy,  we  were  cer- 
tain. There  was  champagne  —  much  of  it  — 
and  until  we  were  able  to  explain  the  reason  for 
our  abstinence,  international  complications 
threatened.  Even  then,  I  think  our  hosts 
scarcely  understood.  Training?  What  did 
that  signify?  A  strange  word.  Come,  a  glass  of 
wine,  to  pledge  friendship.  No?  Very  well, 
then,  so  be  it.  Strange  people,  these  Ameri- 
cans! Yet  they  forgave  us  courteously  enough; 
we  had  a  welcome  of  the  finest;  and  it  was  late 
indeed  when  at  last  we  reached  the  haven  of  the 
"Angleterre." 

The  next  morning  —  April  6th,  the  first  day 
of  the  games  —  dawned  clear  and  bright.  We 


THE  OLYMPIC  GAMES  OF  1896      131 

spent  the  morning  quietly  at  the  hotel,  and 
shortly  before  noon  left  for  the  Stadium.  Up 
to  this  very  moment  we  had  no  slightest  idea 
of  what  the  games  meant  to  Greece;  we  did 
not  know  whether  the  huge  Stadium  would 
contain  a  thousand  spectators  or  ten  thousand. 
Yet,  as  we  drove  through  the  city,  slowly  the 
magnitude  of  the  whole  affair  began  to  dawn 
upon  us.  Through  the  streaming  crowds  we 
came  to  the  entrance,  to  find  every  one  of  the 
sixty  thousand  seats  in  the  vast  enclosure  oc- 
cupied, and  people  standing  in  crowds  on  the 
surrounding  hills.  In  the  space  within  the  run- 
ning-track, Samara,  the  Greek  composer,  led 
the  musicians  in  his  majestic  "Overture  to  the 
Olympic  Games."  And  then,  shortly  before 
two  o'clock,  the  King,  accompanied  by  the 
royal  family,  entered  the  Stadium,  and  in  a 
few  brief  words  formally  opened  the  Olympic 
games  of  1896. 

A  moment  later  the  sound  of  a  trumpet  an- 
nounced the  first  event  —  the  trial  heats  in  the 
hundred-metres  run.  One  by  one  the  contest- 
ants filed  out  upon  the  track  —  representatives 
of  a  dozen  different  nations.  Those  of  our  team 
whose  events  did  not  fall  upon  the  first  day 
were  seated  in  the  Stadium  with  the  other 


132  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

spectators,  looking  anxiously  for  the  three 
Americans,  Curtis,  Burke,  and  Lane.  And 
then,  as  the  runners  lined  up  for  the  first  heat, 
we  saw  Curtis  in  the  middle  of  the  line,  the  blue 
and  gold  unicorn  of  the  B.  A.  A.  showing,  clear 
and  plain,  upon  his  breast.  All  in  a  dozen 
seconds  the  pistol  cracked;  Curtis  leaped  away 
in  the  lead,  held  his  gain,  increased  it,  and 
crossed  the  line  a  winner,  with  plenty  to  spare. 
At  the  entrance  of  the  Stadium  stood  a  tall  flag- 
staff on  which  the  flag  of  the  nation  winning 
each  event  was  to  be  hoisted,  and  a  moment 
later  we  saw  the  stars  and  stripes  flutter  out 
upon  the  breeze.  It  was  a  sight  to  stir  the  blood. 
Forgetting  that  we  were  in  a  country  where  col- 
lege and  club  cheering  was  unknown,  we  sprang 
to  out  feet,  and  our  shouts  rang  out  most  lustily 
across  the  field.  "B.  A.  A.  —  'rah,  'rah,  'rah! 
—  B.  A.  A.  — 'rah,  'rah  — 'rah!  — B.  A.  A., 
'rah  —  'rah  —  'rah !  —  Curtis ! "  For  a  moment 
people  turned  and  stared  at  us  with  a  certain 
dazed  surprise,  as  if  wondering  whence  we  had 
made  our  escape,  and  then  all  at  once  they 
seemed  to  grasp  the  meaning  of  our  effort.  We 
had,  by  good  fortune,  chanced  to  please  the 
popular  taste,  and  the  cheer  from  that  moment 
until  we  left  Athens  was  in  constant  demand. 


THE  OLYMPIC  GAMES  OF  1896      133 

All  that  afternoon  we  heard  from  venturesome 
beginners,  eager  to  learn,  tentative  and  dis- 
pirited "B  —  ah  —  ahs!"  and  when  we  would 
cheer  on  our  own  account,  their  efforts  to  join 
us  produced  a  composite  discord  of  sound  such 
as  I  never  heard  before,  and  surely  never  ex- 
pect to  hear  again. 

In  the  meantime,  Lane  of  Princeton  and 
Burke  of  Boston  had  won  their  heats  in  the 
hundred  metres,  and  the  next  event,  the  hop, 
step,  and  jump,  was  under  way.  Here  there 
were  no  trials,  no  qualifying  for  the  finals  on 
another  day;  the  whole  event  was  run  off  at 
once,  so  that  this  was  really  the  first  Olympic 
championship  to  be  decided. 

James  B.  Connolly  was  the  only  American 
entry,  and  we  watched  some  dozen  of  the  other 
contestants  make  their  trials  —  some  good, 
some  bad,  some  indifferent  —  before  at  length 
Connolly's  name  was  called.  We,  of  course, 
knew  what  he  [could  do  —  he  held  at  that 
time  and  for  many  years  afterward  the  Amer- 
ican record  for  the  two  hops  and  a  jump  —  and 
were  therefore  more  pleased  than  surprised 
when  he  hit  his  take-off  perfectly,  and  landed 
out  in  the  pit,  almost  six  feet  beyond  his  near- 
est competitor.  The  Greeks  were  astounded, 


134  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

and  after  that  jump  Connolly's  popularity  in 
Athens*  was  assured.  As  he  walked  back  to  the 
dressing-rooms,  winner  of  the  first  champion- 
ship, the  crowd  surged  around  him,  shouting 
his  name,  and  coupling  it  with  cries  of  "Nike! 
nik5!"  Connolly  had  "made  good,"  and  one 
prize,  at  least,  was  to  come  back  with  us  across 
the  water. 

Then  came  the  trials  in  the  four  hundred 
metres.  Burke  and  Jamison  won  their  heats, 
while  in  the  eight  hundred  metres  Flack  of 
Australia,  and  Lermusiaux  of  France,  were  the 
winners.  Last  of  all  came  the  discus-throw,  and 
here  Garrett  of  Princeton  surprised  every  one 
by  managing,  on  his  last  trial,  to  win,  by  the 
narrow  margin  of  inches,  from  the  best  per- 
former among  the  Greeks. 

April  7th,  the  second  day  of  the  games, 
was  a  repetition  of  the  first.  Burke  won  the 
final  heat  of  the  four  hundred  metres,  with 
Jamison  second;  Garrett  won  in  the  shot;  while 
Curtis  of  America  and  Goulding  of  England  won 
the  trials  in  the  hundred-and-ten-metre  hurdle 
race.  Flack,  the  Australian,  won  the  mile  by  a 
close  margin  over  Blake,  our  entry;  and  I  won 
the  broad  jump. 

My  own  win  was  about  as  close  a  thing  as  it 


THE  OLYMPIC  GAMES  OF  1896      135 

could  well  have  been;  an  experience  I  should 
not  care  to  go  through  again.  In  America,  the 
invariable  custom  is  for  the  jumper  to  measure 
off  his  distance,  and  to  mark  the  spot  where  he 
begins  to  run  his  hardest  with  his  sweater, 
athletic  programme,  or  something  else  which 
will  readily  catch  the  eye.  I  myself  was  very 
dependent  on  this  mark,  and  practically  lost 
without  it.  In  addition,  the  jumping  path  was 
rough,  utterly  unlike  the  closely-rolled  cinders 
on  Holmes  Field,  and  this  might  well  mean  a 
difference  of  a  foot  or  more  in  allowing  for  the 
proper  run.  Thus  my  discomfiture  may  be 
imagined  when  Prince  George  of  Greece,  who 
was  superintending  the  event,  emphatically 
forbade  any  measurements  or  marks.  Appar- 
ently this,  to  the  Greek  mind,  savored  of  "pro- 
fessionalism." We  made  a  faint  attempt  to 
argue,  were  promptly  suppressed,  and  remem- 
bering the  cautions  we  had  received  at  home, 
lest  possible  international  bad  feeling  should 
arise  out  of  the  games,  we  meekly  bowed  to 
"the  umpire's  decision,"  and  proceeded  to 
"play  ball." 

Connolly  and  Garrett  both  got  in  fair  jumps, 
but  when  my  turn  came,  I  hit  the  take-off 
wrong,  stepped  over  the  board,  and  of  course 


136  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  my  jump  con- 
demned as  a  foul.  On  my  second  trial,  I  figured 
as  closely  as  I  could,  tried  to  reason  where  I  had 
missed  it  before  —  and  fouled  again.  It  was 
little  short  of  agony.  I  shall  never  forget  my 
feelings  as  I  stood  at  the  end  of  the  path  for  my 
third  —  and  last  —  try.  Five  thousand  miles, 
I  reflected,  I  had  come;  and  was  it  to  end  in  this? 
Three  fouls,  and  then  five  thousand  miles  back 
again,  with  that  for  my  memory  of  the  games. 
I  figured  once  more,  got  into  my  stride  as  well 
as  I  could,  jumped  —  and  won.  But,  as  the 
Rogers  Brothers  were  wont  to  observe,  "My, 
what  a  closeness!"  There  were  a  few  moments 
before  that  third  trial  which  I  have  no  wish  to 
repeat. 

On  April  8th  and  9th  the  gymnastic  con- 
tests were  held,  and  in  these  the  Greeks  and 
Germans  showed  to  the  best  advantage.  The 
only  athletic  event  on  the  9th  was  the  final 
of  the  eight  hundred  metres,  where  Flack  was 
an  easy  winner. 

Friday,  April  10th,  was  the  last  day  of  the 
games,  and  the  one  beside  which  the  others 
sank  into  insignificance.  The  programme  in- 
cluded the  final  heat  of  the  hundred-metre  run, 
the  hurdle  race,  the  pole-vault,  the  high  jump, 


THE  OLYMPIC  GAMES  OF  1896     137 

and,  by  far  the  most  important  to  the  general 
public,  the  Marathon.  The  Greeks  seemed  to 
feel  that  the  national  honor  was  at  stake;  the 
excitement  was  so  great  as  to  be  almost  pain- 
ful; and  on  all  sides  we  heard  the  cry,  "The 
other  events  to  the  Americans;  the  Marathon 
to  a  Greek." 

The  sight  in  the  Stadium  was  one  never  to  be 
forgotten.  Hours  before  the  games  began,  every 
seat  was  taken;  the  aisles,  and  the  space  be- 
tween the  lowest  tier  of  seats  and  the  running- 
track,  were  filled  with  people;  the  surrounding 
hills,  as  on  the  days  preceding,  were  blackened 
with  a  dense  throng;  and  in  addition,  from  the 
entrance  of  the  Stadium,  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
see,  people  stood,  three  and  four  deep,  lining 
both  sides  of  the  road,  eager  to  catch  the  first 
glimpse,  or  even  the  first  news,  of  the  Marathon 
runners,  who  were  to  start  on  their  long  jour- 
ney at  noon.  Altogether,  at  least  one  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  people  must  have  been  pre- 
sent on  the  great  final  day. 

The  events  in  the  Stadium  were  quickly  de- 
cided. Burke  won  the  final  of  the  hundred 
metres;  in  the  hurdles  Curtis  defeated  Gould- 
ing  by  inches,  in  the  most  exciting  finish  of  the 
games;  I  won  the  high  jump;  and  Hoyt,  after  a 


138  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

hard  tussle  with  Tyler  of  Princeton,  won  the 
vault.  He  had  his  bad  quarter  of  a  minute,  as  I 
had  had  mine  in  the  broad  jump.  With  the  bar 
up  around  ten  feet,  Tyler  got  over  in  safety, 
and  Hoyt  missed  twice.  I  can  remember  now 
the  anxiety  with  which  I  saw  him  come  running 
down  the  path  on  his  last  trial.  His  nerve  held; 
he  caught  things  right,  and  was  over  in  safety, 
eventually  to  prove  the  winner. 

The  name  of  the  last  champion  was  an- 
nounced; and  then,  suddenly,  there  fell  utter 
silence  over  the  Stadium.  The  same  thought 
rose  in  every  mind:  "Who  wins  the  Mara- 
thon?" Slowly  the  moments  dragged,  and  then, 
on  a  sudden,  a  murmur  arose  in  the  long  line  of 
watchers  outside  the  entrance,  —  a  murmur 
which  grew  to  a  shout,  and  then  swelled  to  a 
vast  roar,  —  "A  Greek!  A  Greek  wins!"  and 
a  moment  later,  panting,  dusty,  travel-stained, 
but  still  running  true  and  strong,  Spiridon 
Loues,  a  young  Greek  peasant,  burst  into  the 
Stadium,  the  winner  of  the  race,  the  hero  of  the 
day,  and  the  idol  of  his  people.  For  a  few  mo- 
ments the  wildest  confusion  reigned.  Snow- 
white  doves,  decked  with  ribbons  of  blue  and 
white  —  the  national  colors  —  were  set  free  in 
the  enclosure;  flowers,  money,  jewelry,  were 


THE  OLYMPIC  GAMES  OF  1896     139 

showered  upon  the  victor;  and  completing  the 
circuit  of  the  track,  with  the  Crown  Prince  and 
Prince  George  on  either  side,  Loues  was  borne 
away  to  the  dressing-rooms  on  the  shoulders  of 
the  crowd.  The  second  and  third  places  were 
also  won  by  Greeks,  and  the  fourth  by  a  Hun- 
garian. 

The  after  history  of  the  race  was  most  inter- 
esting. Lermusiaux,  the  Frenchman,  started 
out  at  a  terrific  pace,  and  at  ten  miles  was  far  in 
the  lead,  with  Flack  second,  and  Blake  third. 
Then  the  Frenchman's  strength  failed  him,  and 
he  had  to  stop.  Blake,  running  strongly  and 
easily  up  to  fifteen  miles,  at  that  point  suddenly 
collapsed,  and  fell,  unable  to  continue.  A  few 
miles  farther  on,  Flack  followed  suit,  and  then 
the  Greeks,  who  had  wisely  set  a  slower  pace, 
came  to  the  front,  and  fought  it  out  for  the  first 
three  places  among  themselves. 

Thus  the  games  came  to  an  end;  yet  the  in- 
terest of  the  trip  was  still  to  continue.  On  the 
llth  we  watched  the  bicycle  races  and  the 
swimming,  and  in  the  evening  were  given  a  re- 
ception by  Admiral  Selfridge,  on  the  San  Fran- 
cisco, then  lying  off  the  city,  in  the  Piraeus.  I 
have  the  "Programme  of  Music"  by  me  as  I 
write.  "The  Washington  Post";  "Tommy 


140  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

Atkins";  "The  Bowery";  eloquent  reminders 
of  the  swift  passage  of  the  years. 

For  the  next  few  days  one  event  after  an- 
other crowded  upon  us.  Breakfast  at  the  palace 
with  the  King,  a  ball,  a  picnic  with  the  royal 
family,  on  the  day  when  the  prizes  —  cups, 
medals,  diplomas,  twigs  of  wild  olive  —  were 
presented  at  the  Stadium;  it  was  all  a  time  to  be 
remembered.  Other  Olympic  games  held  later 
were  to  attract  greater  numbers  of  athletes, 
were  to  result  in  the  making  of  more  remark- 
able records,  but  for  the  time  itself,  nothing 
could  equal  this  first  revival.  The  flavor  of 
the  Athenian  soil  —  the  feeling  of  helping  to 
bridge  the  gap  between  the  old  and  the  new  — 
the  indefinable  poetic  charm  of  knowing  one's 
self  thus  linked  with  the  past,  a  successor  to 
the  great  heroic  figures  of  olden  times  —  the 
splendid  sportsmanship  of  the  whole  affair  — 
there  is  but  one  first  time  in  everything,  and 
that  first  time  was  gloriously,  and  in  a  manner 
ever  to  be  remembered,  the  privilege  of  the 
American  team  of  1896. 

And  still  there  was  something  more  in  store 
for  us  —  our  welcome  home.  None  of  us  real- 
ized the  interest  which  the  games  had  awak- 
ened in  our  native  city,  and  to  be  met  in  New 


THE  OLYMPIC  GAMES  OF  1896     141 

York  by  special  cars,  bearing  our  august  city 
fathers,  come  to  welcome  us,  and  armed  to  kill 
two  birds  with  one  stone  —  it  was  sublime! 
The  railroad  station  thronged  with  a  surging 
crowd.  Banquets  at  the  B.  A.  A.,  and  under 
the  auspices  of  the  city,  in  the  presence  of  the 
governor  and  the  mayor,  a  public  reception 
in  old  Faneuil  Hall,  —  verily  wonder  succeeded 
to  wonder,  and  it  was  almost  with  the  feeling 
that  we  had  been  living  in  a  land  of  shadowy 
romance,  that  we  settled  down  again  to  the 
quiet  routine  of  every  day.  The  Olympic 
games  of  1896  had  come  and  gone,  leaving  in 
our  hearts  an  enduring  memory.  - 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP  AGAIN 

FOB  some  time  after  my  return  from  the 
Athenian  games  I  could  not  seem  to  regain 
my  form.  The  New  England  all-arounds  were 
held  on  June  17,  1896,  but  they  were  a  tame 
affair.  Neither  Carpenter  nor  Long  competed, 
and  Brigham  I  never  heard  of  again;  something 
I  have  always  regretted,  for  it  seemed  to  me 
that  he  had  the  makings  of  a  good  all-around 
man.  With  all  these  withdrawals,  only  two 
men  actually  competed  in  the  games,  —  E.  L. 
Hopkins  of  South  Boston  and  myself.  Hop- 
kins was  a  fair  performer  with  the  weights,  and 
could  walk  a  good  half-mile,  but  otherwise  was 
not  particularly  dangerous.  This,  indeed,  was 
fortunate  for  me,  for  I  was  in  poor  form,  not 
nearly  so  good  even  as  the  year  before.  I  did  a 
trifle  better  with  the  weights,  but  fell  off  in  the 
other  events.  In  fact,  the  only  performance  at 
all  approaching  merit  was  a  broad  jump  of  21 
feet  &i.  I  went  abroad  again  in  June,  and  the 
national  championship  for  that  year  was  won 


THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP    143 

by  L.  P.  Sheldon  of  Yale.  There  were  only 
three  competitors  and  Sheldon  won  with  5380 
points. 

1897  was  destined  to  be  my  banner  year,  in 
which  I  was  to  improve  steadily  until,  in  the 
very  pink  of  condition,  I  was  to  meet  with  an 
injury  that  was  to  end  my  track  career  for  five 
years.  All  through  the  spring  of  1897  I  was  in 
good  shape,  and  as  soon  as  the  intercollegiate 
games  were  ended  began  my  training  for  the 
New  England  all-arounds.  This  year's  con- 
test was  to  be  a  very  different  thing  from  the 
fiasco  of  the  year  before.  There  were  four  con- 
testants: W.  J.  Holland,  afterwards  the  inter- 
collegiate champion  at  the  quarter-mile,  W.  B. 
Boyce  of  the  Brookline  High  School,  an  ath- 
lete of  exceptional  promise,  David  Hennan,  the 
Harvard  weight-thrower,  and  myself.  This 
year  there  was  an  innovation  which  really 
robs  the  contest  of  its  value  as  an  all-around 
performance.  This  was  the  substitution  of  the 
discus-throw  for  the  half-mile  walk.  While  we 
did  not  score  as  many  points  as  we  should  have 
done  at  the  walk,  there  could  be  no  compari- 
son, in  the  matter  of  physical  exhaustion,  be- 
tween the  taking  of  three  throws  with  the  dis- 
cus and  the  terrific  grind  of  the  half-mile.  But, 


144  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

apart  from  this,  my  performance  was  a  very 
fair  one.  The  hundred  yards  was  a  good  be- 
ginning. Holland  was  an  excellent  sprinter,  and 
won  in  the  good  time  of  10 f  seconds,  but  Boyce 
and  I  were  only  two  and  a  half  feet  behind  him. 
This  was  the  best  hundred  I  had  ever  run,  and 
like  the  golfer  who  does  his  first  hole  in  a  three, 
it  gave  me  good  courage  for  the  rest  of  the 
events.  After  that,  I  did  a  well-balanced  per- 
formance :  38  feet  2f  inches  in  the  shot;  5  feet 
8  in  the  high  jump;  92  feet  8  with  the  discus; 
120  feet  5j  with  the  hammer;  9  feet  2f  in  the 
vault;  l?i  seconds  in  the  hurdles;  26  feet  4 
with  the  fifty-six;  21  feet  4j  in  the  broad;  and, 
having  the  competition  well  in  hand,  some- 
thing over  6  minutes  for  the  mile  —  a  total  of 
nearly  6400  points. 

Encouraged  by  my  performance  I  decided 
to  enter  the  national  all-around  championship 
on  the  Fourth  of  July.  It  so  happened  that 
the  event  this  year  attracted  an  unusually  large 
number  of  starters.  There  were  nine  of  us  alto- 
gether: six  New  Yorkers,  —  Reuss,  White, 
Mahoney,  Winship,  Smith,  and  Bloss,  —  Cos- 
grave  of  the  New  Jersey  Athletic  Club,  Dole 
from  California,  and  myself  from  Boston. 

The  day  was  one  of  terrific  heat  —  the  ther- 


THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP  145 

mometer,  as  I  remember,  stood  at  96  degrees  in 
the  shade,  —  and  I  am  confident  that  had  it 
not  been  for  the  good  judgment  of  my  trainer, 
John  Graham,  I  should  scarcely  have  come 
through  the  contest  in  as  good  shape  as  I  did. 
My  besetting  sin,  at  that  time,  was  a  craze  to 
do  too  much  work.  To  stay  out  an  entire  after- 
noon in  the  broiling  sun,  diverting  myself  with 
such  airy  trifles  as  the  fifty-six-pound  weight, 
the  hammer,  and  the  half-mile  walk,  appeared 
to  me  a  normal  day's  exercise.  Finally,  a  week 
before  the  games,  Graham  gave  me  a  long  and 
serious  talk,  and  laid  down  the  law  in  language 
which  I  could  not  mistake.  He  told  me  that  I 
had  been  through  one  hard  all-around,  and 
had  another  coming;  that  I  had  a  bad  ankle 
which  needed  the  best  of  care;  that  I  was  in 
imminent  danger  of  going  stale;  and  that  I  was 
forthwith  to  give  up  all  work,  and  rest  for  a 
week,  whereby  I  would  step  onto  the  track  on 
the  Fourth  in  the  best  shape  of  my  life. 

I  argued  against  him  in  vain,  protesting  that 
I  was  short  of  work  as  it  was;  that  to  lay  off  for 
a  week  would  put  me  in  such  bad  condition  that 
I  should  not  be  able  to  do  anything  at  all;  and 
advancing  many  another  flimsy  pretext  that  I 
cannot  now  remember.  All  in  vain:  he  was 


146  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

firm,  and  with  much  grumbling,  I  finally  con- 
sented to  do  as  he  desired. 

All  that  week  I  worried,  devouring  every  jot- 
ting concerning  the  games  which  appeared  in 
the  papers;  imagining  myself  getting  so  fat  and 
out  of  shape  that  I  should  be  unable  even  to 
run  the  hundred  yards,  and  going  through  all 
the  other  alarms  which  attack  a  comparative 
novice  before  his  first  big  competition.  All  the 
way  on  to  New  York  I  kept  telling  Graham 
what  poor  condition  I  was  in,  but  he  failed  to 
sympathize  with  me  in  the  least,  telling  me  to 
do  the  best  I  could,  and  not  to  worry.  Up  to 
the  very  last  moment  before  I  stepped  out  on 
the  track,  I  was  in  a  state  of  pitiable  nervous- 
ness. I  had  not  lost  my  "nerve"  as  the  expres- 
sion goes;  I  felt  that  I  was  going  to  do  every 
bit  that  was  in  me,  but  I  feared  that  that 
amounted  to  extremely  little.  My  heart 
seemed  to  take  up  the  whole  of  my  body  with 
its  pounding;  my  tongue  was  parched,  my 
mouth  dry.  The  talk  around  the  grounds  was 
that  a  New  York  man  was  going  to  win,  and 
while  in  my  heart  I  felt  sure  that  Cosgrave  was 
to  be  my  chief  opponent,  I  attributed  all  sorts  of 
wonderful  powers  to  the  others,  and  felt  myself 
very  small  indeed;  so  that,  when  the  call  finally 


THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP   147 

came  for  the  hundred  yards,  I  walked  over  to 
the  start,  with  the  feeling  that  as  far  as  winning 
went,  I  might  exactly  as  well  have  stayed  at 
home. 

A  moment  later,  our  names  were  called  off, 
and  I  found  that  I  was  drawn  in  the  same  heat 
with  E.  B.  Bloss.  I  was  glad  of  this,  for  while  I 
knew  he  could  beat  me,  I  knew  also  that  the 
stress  of  trying  to  keep  up  with  him  would  pro- 
bably make  me  run  faster  than  if  I  had  been 
drawn  in  a  heat  where  I  might  have  won,  but 
finding  myself  in  the  lead,  would  insensibly 
have  relaxed  my  efforts.  I  could  not  help  think- 
ing, as  I  watched  Bloss  taking  a  practice  start 
down  the  track,  that  he  must  be  far  and  away 
the  smallest  man  who  ever  competed  in  an  all- 
around.  I  speak  only  from  memory,  but  I  do 
not  suppose  that  he  was  over  five  feet  five  at  the 
most.  Yet  he  was  muscled  like  a  giant,  and  as 
full  of  sheer,  downright,  nervous  energy  as  any 
man  who  ever  wore  a  shoe.  "The  Pocket  Her- 
cules," my  friend  and  classmate,  W.  E.  Put- 
nam, Jr.,  the  high  jumper,  used  to  call  him,  and 
the  phrase  was  a  most  happy  one.  His  records 
for  the  short  dashes  still  stand;  he  was  a 
twenty-three-foot  man  at  the  broad  jump;  and 
a  good  high  jumper  as  well;  but  the  idea  of  his 


148  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

handling  a  hammer  or  a  fifty-six-pound  weight 
was  absolutely  ludicrous.  I  shook  my  head  as 
I  watched  him,  and  then  stepped  out  on  the 
track,  to  get  my  own  muscles  running  smoothly, 
though  as  a  matter  of  fact  the  day  was  so 
warm  that  the  phrase  "  warming-up  "  was  irony. 
I  dug  the  holes  for  my  start,  crouched  on  the 
mark,  and  then  sprang  away  into  my  stride. 

Never,  so  long  as  I  live,  shall  I  forget  the 
feeling  of  that  moment.  On  the  instant  I  knew 
that  Graham  had  handled  me  to  perfection;  I 
had  spring  and  bound  enough  in  me  to  make 
me  feel  that  I  could  do  anything,  and  with  a 
little  sigh  of  satisfaction  I  sat  down  under  the 
trees,  and  awaited  the  call  for  the  first  heat. 
Soon  enough  it  came,  and  I  ran  the  best  hun- 
dred of  my  life.  Bloss  won,  of  course,  and  made 
the  good  time  of  lOf  ;  but  I  pressed  him  hard 
all  the  way,  and  was  at  his  shoulder  when  we 
crossed  the  tape.  Two  feet  back  was  the  offi- 
cial rating,  and  more  than  satisfied,  I  ran  across 
the  field  to  change  my  shoes  for  the  shot-put. 
Here  I  was  to  open  up  my  first  lead  of  conse- 
quence, for  I  put  37  feet  11 J  inches,  while  the 
next  best  was  by  White,  who  put  35,  the  others 
ranging  all  the  way  down  to  30.  The  high  jump 
I  had  all  along  conceded  to  Cosgrave,  for  he 


THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP   149 

had  a  record  of  over  6  feet,  while  5  feet  10  was 
my  best.  Evidently,  however,  the  hard  work  in 
preparation  for  the  other  events  had  taken  the 
edge  off  Cosgrave's  jumping,  for  5  feet  8|  was 
his  limit,  while  I  went  up  to  5  feet  9  2  without 
a  miss,  and  stopped  without  trying  farther. 
After  this,  I  had  no  great  fear  of  the  result,  and 
while  I  walked  a  very  poor  half-mile,  I  made  a 
fair  throw  with  the  hammer,  117  feet  7  inches; 
did  9  feet  6  in  the  pole-vault,  and  ran  the  hur- 
dles in  17^  seconds.  After  this,  I  began  to  tire 
slightly,  and  made  a  poor  throw  with  the  fifty- 
six  —  only  23  feet  and  4  inches.  I  broad- 
jumped  21  feet,  and  ran  a  slow  mile,  more  for 
the  sake  of  breaking  the  record  than  for  any- 
thing else.  Cosgrave  was  second,  while  Dole  of 
California  came  with  a  rush  toward  the  end,  and 
finished  third.  His  vault  of  10  feet  and  9  inches 
was  the  best  individual  performance  of  the  day. 
And  now,  once  fairly  in  good  form,  and  with 
a  pleasant  future  ahead  of  me  in  the  athletic 
world,  I  was  destined  to  meet  with  an  accident 
which  was  to  cripple  me  for  the  rest  of  my  days. 
In  September  of  this  same  year  I  was  on  a 
shooting  trip  in  Prince  Edward  Island.  An 
athletic  meeting  was  held  in  Charlottetown, 
and  I  was  asked  to  give  an  exhibition  in  the 


150  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

high  jump.  The  sports  were  held  in  an  open 
field,  and  there  was  no  place  prepared  for  land- 
ing; I  had  a  knee  which  had  been  troubling  me 
a  little,  but  foolishly  enough  I  went  ahead,  and 
jumped.  I  had  only  cleared  two  or  three  low 
heights  —  the  bar,  I  think,  was  around  5  feet  4 
inches  —  when,  on  my  next  trial,  I  took  off  a 
little  too  far  from  the  bar,  gave  a  throw  of  the 
body  to  get  myself  over,  lost  my  balance,  and 
as  I  landed,  my  spikes  caught  in  the  grass,  and 
held  my  leg  firmly,  while  the  rest  of  my  body 
kept  on.  Across  the  track,  in  the  grand  stand, 
the  spectators  heard  a  report  like  a  pistol.  I 
turned  faint  and  sick  for  a  moment,  and  when 
I  tried  to  get  up  on  my  feet,  my  left  knee  was 
useless.  It  was  not  broken,  —  the  doctor  told 
me  later  that  a  break  would  have  been  prefer- 
able, —  but  of  the  muscles  and  sinews  and 
ligaments  that  could  be  torn  and  damaged,  not 
one  was  left  intact.  To  make  it  worse,  I  under- 
valued the  injury,  tried  to  walk  round  on  the 
knee,  and  was  soon  in  a  fever,  with  a  severe  in- 
flammation. For  six  weeks  after  I  reached 
home,  I  was  flat  on  my  back,  and  for  two  years 
I  had  no  thought  of  athletics,  and  was  glad 
enough  to  get  around  about  my  ordinary  busi- 
ness again. 


THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP   151 

By  the  spring  of  1900,  the  knee  was  better, 
and  I  felt  the  old  desire  to  try  athletics  again 
come  back  to  me.  E.G.  White  had  won  the  title 
in  1898,  with  the  very  low  total  of  5243  points. 
In  1899  J.  Fred  Powers  of  Worcester  won,  with 
the  excellent  total  of  6203  points.  Powers  was 
a  remarkable  athlete.  At  Notre  Dame  he  was 
known  by  the  nickname  of  "  Track-Team  "  Pow- 
ers, and  indeed,  it  was  not  far  from  the  truth.  I 
believe  he  could  have  competed,  practically  sin- 
gle-handed, against  many  a  team  of  the  smaller 
colleges,  and  won  his  way  to  victory.  Over  40  feet 
with  the  shot,  5  feet  11  in  the  high,  and  21  feet 
82  in  the  broad,  were  the  pick  of  his  records. 

If  Powers  had  announced  himself  as  a  com- 
petitor in  the  following  year,  I  should  not  have 
tried  the  games  again;  for  while  he  had  not 
quite  equaled  my  record  of  1897,  still  I  realized 
that  I  was  in  no  such  condition  as  I  had  been 
then,  and  could  not  have  come  within  many 
hundred  points  of  my  old  record.  As  it  chanced, 
however,  Powers  turned  professional.  I  for- 
warded my  entry,  and  learned  that  there  were 
only  three  others  competing,  —  Reuss  and 
White  of  New  York,  and  a  third  man  whose 
name  was  then  unknown  to  the  athletic  world 
at  large,  Harry  Gill  of  Canada.  To  me  it 


152  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

seemed  like  an  easy  chance  to  score  a  victory, 
and  although  my  knee  was  still  bothering  me, 
and  I  was  generally  in  pretty  poor  shape,  I  had 
just  enough  foolish  conceit  to  think  that  I  could 
win,  even  with  things  as  they  were. 

To  enter  a  contest  possessed  with  over-confi- 
dence is,  as  a  general  rule,  to  invite  disaster. 
The  trip  to  New  York  rather  increased  my  be- 
lief that  I  could  win.  I  made  the  journey  to 
Bergen  Point  in  company  with  some  New 
Yorkers  who  had  seen  the  games  in  1897,  and 
while  I  told  them  I  was  not  in  shape,  they  ex- 
pressed no  doubts  as  to  the  result.  They  did 
not  rate  Reuss  and  White  very  highly,  and  Gill 
they  had  never  heard  of. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  first  glimpse  I  had  of 
Gill,  as  he  was  stripping  in  the  club-house.  I 
was  judge  enough  of  athletes  by  this  time  to 
feel  a  sinking  sensation  as  I  gazed  at  him.  And 
in  truth  he  was  an  awkward-looking  customer 
for  any  one  to  undertake  to  handle.  He  was 
about  six  feet  tall,  must  have  weighed,  at  that 
time,  in  the  neighborhood  of  a  hundred  and 
eighty-five  pounds,  and  was  as  erect  and  rugged 
as  a  pine  tree.  He  was  quiet  and  modest,  had 
little  to  say  for  himself,  but  a  casual  practice 
put  with  the  shot,  before  we  walked  over  to  the 


THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP   153 

hundred,  did  not  decrease  my  feeling  that  I  was 
confronted  with  an  exceptionally  good  man. 

In  the  hundred  he  showed  poorly;  his  time 
was  llf ,  and  I  had  no  difficulty  in  disposing  of 
him.  Momentarily  I  felt  that  I  had  overrated 
him,  but  alas,  the  shot-put  was  to  disillusion 
me.  He  seemed  to  put  so  easily,  and  with  such 
a  lack  of  strain  and  effort,  that  I  felt  almost  a 
sense  of  personal  injury  to  see  how  far  his  puts 
landed  beyond  my  own.  41  feet  5j  inches  — 
it  was  a  revelation.  Perhaps,  I  thought,  he  will 
show  a  reversal  of  form  in  the  high  jump.  But 
heavens !  —  when  it  came  to  the  high  jump,  it 
was  a  case  of  "born  and  bred  in  a  briar-patch." 
The  same  deceptive  ease.  He  cleared  the  low 
heights  with  what  looked  like  a  lack  of  form, 
going  over  them  by  perhaps  an  inch  or  two. 
Good  enough,  I  thought,  he'll  soon  fail;  I'll 
have  a  chance  yet.  But,  to  my  amazement,  he 
kept  on  clearing  height  after  height  like  a  ma- 
chine, always  with  the  same  comfortable  mar- 
gin to  spare.  Eventually  he  cleared  5  feet  11 J 
—  if  memory  serves  me  —  without  ever  miss- 
ing a  height  at  all.  It  was  enough;  I  knew 
when  I  was  defeated,  and  for  the  remainder  of 
the  contest  I  was  little  more  than  an  interested 
spectator.  Gill,  to  be  sure,  did  not  keep  up  this 


154  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

tremendous  pace.  The  shot  and  the  high  jump 
were  the  two  brilliant  spots  in  the  record,  but 
the  rest  of  the  programme  was  even  and  well- 
balanced.  The  fifty-six  was  especially  good,  27 
feet  7^;  and  he  broke  my  record  with  a  total 
of  6360J  points.  Later  he  turned  professional, 
as  Powers  had  done,  and  curiously  enough, 
these  two  winners  of  the  amateur  champion- 
ship were  to  meet  as  professionals,  in  1903, 
when  the  professional  all-around  champion- 
ship was  held  at  South  Boston,  Gill  proving  the 
winner. 

After  the  disastrous  experience  of  1900,  I 
was  content  to  let  two  years  go  by  without  so 
much  as  a  thought  of  the  all-arounds.  The 
championship  in  1901,  and  again  in  1902,  went 
to  Adam  Gunn,  of  Buffalo,  a  really  first-class 
performer,  and  one  of  the  six  or  eight  all- 
around  champions  who  have  merited  the  name. 
His  performance  in  1902  was  especially  note- 
worthy ;  thoroughly  well-balanced,  without  a 
weak  point  on  the  list,  and  with  a  showing  of 
39  feet  and  7  inches  in  the  shot,  and  10  feet 
6,  in  the  pole-vault.  His  total  in  points  was 
6260. 

In  the  spring  of  1903  I  began  once  again  to 
do  a  little  work  in  athletics,  and  soon  found  that 


THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP   155 

my  knee  was  much  stronger,  and  that  my  per- 
formances were  very  much  better  than  they 
had  been  three  years  earlier.  Continued  train- 
ing brought  with  it  really  encouraging  results, 
so  that  by  summer  I  made  up  my  mind  to  go  on 
to  New  York  and  take  another  try  at  the  title. 
There  were  eight  contestants  that  year,  Gunn 
being  of  course  the  most  prominent.  The  gen- 
eral feeling  so  far  as  I  was  concerned  was,  I 
think,  one  of  sympathy.  My  last  appearance 
had  convinced  every  one  that  my  day  had 
passed,  while  Gunn's  showing  of  the  year  be- 
fore had  rightly  enough  made  him  a  strong  fa- 
vorite over  the  field.  Up  to  the  fifth  event,  the 
hammer-throw,  it  was  as  close  a  thing  between 
us  as  any  one  could  have  wished  to  see.  I  won 
the  hundred;  Gunn  the  shot;  we  tied  in  the 
high  jump;  and  I  won  the  half-mile  walk.  In 
the  hammer-throw,  however,  I  made  a  trial  of 
122  feet  and  over,  while  Gunn  had  the  misfor- 
tune to  foul  on  his  best  throw,  and  scored  less 
than  100  feet.  This  practically  settled  the  con- 
test, and  I  eventually  won  with  6318  points, 
just  short  of  Gill's  record  in  1900.  I  failed  by 
one  of  those  close  margins  that  I  have  always 
regretted,  making  a  throw  of  about  29  feet  with 
the  fifty-six,  and  just  putting  one  spike  outside 


156  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

the  circle  in  my  effort.  The  difference  of  a  half 
inch  would  have  given  me  the  record  by  a  com- 
fortable margin.  As  it  was,  however,  I  had  no 
right  to  complain.  My  performance,  like 
Gunn's  of  the  year  before,  was  a  well-balanced 
one.  I  ran  the  hundred  in  lOf ;  put  the  shot  36 
feet?!  inches;  high- jumped  5  feet  4;  threw  the 
hammer  122  feet  83  inches;  ran  the  hurdles  in 
17f ;  pole-vaulted  9  feet  ij;  broad-jumped  20 
feet  62  ;  threw  the  fifty-six  25  feet  5i  inches ; 
and  ran  the  mile  in  5.57.  Altogether,  I  had  re- 
deemed myself  for  1900. 

The  next  year  saw  a  new  champion,  in  the 
person  of  T.  F.  Kiely  of  Ireland.  The  games 
were  held  in  St.  Louis,  in  connection  with  the 
Exposition  there.  Gunn  competed  again;  so 
did  Truxton  Hare,  the  famous  football  player 
and  hammer-thrower  from  the  University  of 
Pennsylvania.  I  was  in  very  poor  shape  that 
spring,  was  half  sick  with  bronchitis  when  I 
started  for  the  games,  and  would  have  done  in- 
finitely better  to  remain  at  home.  For  the  day 
itself  was  the  worst  on  which  I  ever  competed. 
It  was  hot  and  sultry,  until  we  had  reached  the 
high  jump,  and  then  a  huge  black  cloud  bore 
down  upon  us,  and  in  a  twinkling  we  were 
caught  in  the  hardest  shower  I  ever  saw.  We 


THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP   157 

were  all  thoroughly  drenched  before  we  could 
reach  cover,  and  then  stood  waiting  for  an  hour 
or  more  before  we  could  continue.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  high-jump  path.  It  was  a  sea  of  mud, 
and  between  every  two  jumps,  we  must  sit 
down  with  pieces  of  board,  and  scrape  the  mud 
from  our  jumping  shoes,  so  that  we  would  not 
slip  and  lose  our  footing  altogether.  When  we 
were  called  to  the  scratch  for  the  half-mile 
walk,  I  was  in  terrible  condition,  deathly  pale, 
and  trembling  from  head  to  foot.  Yet  foolishly 
enough,  I  tried  to  stick  it  out,  and  that  walk 
took  more  out  of  me  than  anything  else  I  ever 
did  before  or  since.  At  its  conclusion,  fever  suc- 
ceeded to  my  chilliness,  I  made  one  half- 
hearted attempt  at  the  hammer,  and  then 
could  absolutely  do  no  more.  I  was  "done," 
and  I  knew  it;  came  home  with  a  raging  fever, 
and  was  no  good  for  the  rest  of  the  summer.  So 
much  for  competing  when  not  in  shape. 

It  looked  like  a  victory  for  Gunn  until  near 
the  end,  when  Kiely's  good  work  with  the  fifty- 
six  helped  him  out,  and  he  won,  with  Gunn 
second  and  Hare  third.  Two  years  later,  Kiely 
repeated  his  victory,  and  made  a  score  of  6274 
points,  giving  him  rank  as  a  really  first-class 
man.  His  work  was  the  more  remarkable  be- 


158  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

cause  at  this  time  he  was  no  longer  a  young 
man.  His  performance  was  curious  in  one  re- 
spect, insomuch  as  it  was  scarcely  so  well-bal- 
anced as  with  most  of  the  really  good  men.  His 
stronghold  was  in  the  weights.  He  was  a  fair 
performer  with  the  shot  —  good  for  37  or  38 
feet  —  but  with  the  hammer  and  fifty-six  he 
scored  tremendously  —  throwing  the  hammer 
144  feet  and  some  inches,  and  the  fifty-six  31 
feet  9,  and  just  fouling  on  a  throw  of  33  feet  flat. 
The  rest  of  his  work  was  hardly  more  than  fair. 
He  was  a  slow  sprinter,  a  poor  mile-runner,  but 
a  good  walker.  His  high-jumping  and  pole- 
vaulting  were  weak,  and  his  broad-jumping  only 
fair;  and  yet,  as  I  say,  his  hammer  and  fifty-six 
were  so  remarkably  good  that  his  total  score 
ranked  among  the  really  good  performances  at 
the  event. 

The  all-arounds  ]  of  the  next  year,  1905, 
were,  I  think,  the  most  successful  ever  held. 
The  contest,  until  half  the  events  were  over,  was 
as  close  as  possible;  the  scoring  was  excellent; 
and  most  important  of  all,  the  games  brought 
into  prominence  the  foremost  all-around  ath- 
lete of  the  age  —  Martin  Sheridan,  of  the  Irish 
American  Athletic  Association,  of  New  York. 

There  were  six  starters,  of  whom  two  were 


THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP   159 

hardly  to  be  seriously  reckoned  with.  The 
other  four  were  Sheridan,  Adam  Gunn  and 
Hall  of  Buffalo,  and  myself.  The  day  was  per- 
fect, and  all  the  conditions  were  favorable.  I 
had  a  strong  idea,  from  what  I  had  heard  of 
Sheridan's  work,  and  from  what  I  knew  of  his 
ability,  that  he  would  prove  the  winner,  and  I 
was  not  mistaken  in  my  surmise.  For  the  first 
five  events,  however,  it  was  as  pretty  a  contest 
as  any  one  could  wish.  I  won  the  hundred; 
Sheridan  the  shot;  Sheridan  and  Gunn  tied  in 
the  high  jump;  I  won  the  walk,  and  then,  in  the 
hammer-throw,  I  got  in  a  trial  of  130  feet  and  5 
inches,  to  Sheridan's  112,  which  put  me  in  the 
lead,  with  Sheridan  a  close  second,  and  Gunn 
only  a  couple  of  hundred  points  behind. 

At  this  point,  then,  I  felt  that  unless  Sheri- 
dan proved  very  much  my  superior  in  the  pole- 
vault,  which  was  the  next  event,  I  had  a  pos- 
sible chance  to  win.  I  had  never  seen  him 
vault,  and  knew  nothing  of  what  he  could  do. 
With  the  bar  at  about  eight  feet,  he  came  out  to 
take  his  first  try,  and  as  long  as  I  live,  the  im- 
pression of  that  vault  will  remain  on  my  mind. 
Sheridan  used  a  pole  that  was  immensely  long; 
he  started  a  long  distance  away  from  the 
standards,  and  came  running  down  with  long 


160  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

and  powerful  strides;  but  the  distance  by  which 
he  cleared  the  bar  was  the  longest  thing  of  all. 
I  do  not  suppose,  looking  back  upon  it  from  the 
present  time,  that  he  really  cleared  the  bar  by 
six  feet,  but  at  the  moment,  I  would  have  sworn 
to  it  upon  the  Bible.  It  was  enough  for  me  —  I 
knew  when  I  was  beaten. 

Not,  of  course,  that  I  gave  up  the  fight  in  the 
sense  in  which  a  man  is  said  to  "quit."  But 
the  idea  which  some  people  have  that  a  man  is 
capable  of  accomplishing  wonders  when  threat- 
ened with  defeat,  is  terribly  overdone,  and  is,  I 
believe,  largely  a  product  of  school  and  college 
journalism,  where  the  hero  of  the  tale  perceives 
the  heroine  seated  in  the  grand-stand,  and 
forthwith,  aided  by  Love's  heroic  inspiration, 
wins  the  mile  run  for  "dear  old"  Harvard  or 
Yale  or  Princeton,  as  the  case  may  be,  inci- 
dentally shattering  a  world's  record  in  the  pro- 
cess, and  that  evening,  at  the  ball,  "pale  and 
interesting-looking,"  is  honored  with  the  hero- 
ine's hand,  and  presented  by  her  billionaire  fa- 
ther with  a  brown  stone  front  on  the  Avenue. 
This  is  all  very  beautiful.  If  it  is  a  dream  dear 
to  youth,  I  would  not  seek  to  shatter  it,  merely 
observing  that  in  real  life,  though  the  desire  to 
win  to  please  the  young  lady  in  the  grand- 


MARTIN  J.  SHERIDAN 


THE  ALL-AROUND  CHAMPIONSHIP   161 

stand,  and  to  bring  honor  to  one's  university, 
are  both  excellent  things,  it  is  after  all  the 
weeks  and  months  of  patient  preparation  which 
are  apt  to  tell  the  story;  and  in  the  common  run 
of  cases,  the  sudden  desire,  however  praise- 
worthy, to  become  a  hero,  if  it  be  not  backed  up 
by  the  careful  and  persistent  effort  to  "get  in 
shape,"  is  apt,  like  a  death-bed  repentance,  to 
come  a  little  late.  In  a  word,  athletics  are  more  a 
matter  of  mathematics,  and  less  a  matter  of  in- 
spiration, than  most  people  are  wont  to  believe. 

And  thus,  although  I  kept  on  vaulting  to  the 
best  of  my  ability  (which  is  not  saying  much), 
and  although  I  finally  cleared  the  greatest 
height  I  had  made  that  year,  Sheridan  beat  me 
by  more  than  a  foot,  and  was  after  that  never 
headed,  and  won  easily  with  the  record  score  of 
6820J  points.  I  finished  second,  with  6189,  and 
Gunn  third,  with  6111. 

Sheridan,  in  the  matter  of  scoring,  did  not 
stop  here.  In  1907  he  made  a  record  of  7130J, 
and  in  1909  again  eclipsed  his  own  performance 
with  the  phenomenal  total  of  7385. 

In  this  last  record  there  is  scarcely  a  fault  to 
be  found.  There  are  no  weak  points,  such  as 
might  be  found  in  Sheridan's  earlier  scores;  by 
painstaking  effort  in  his  practice  for  the  con- 


162  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

test,  he  has  eliminated  them  all,  until  the  prac- 
tically perfect  score  remains.  10f  for  the  hun- 
dred; 43  feet  li  in  the  shot;  5  feet  7  in  the 
high;  3.43  for  the  walk;  125  feet  10  in  the  ham- 
mer; 10  feet  9  in  the  pole;  l?i  in  the  hurdles;  20 
feet  7j  in  the  broad ;  29  feet  llj  with  the 
fifty-six;  and  6.05  in  the  mile;  he  must  indeed 
be  a  captious  critic  who  will  venture  to  suggest 
an  improvement  upon  this  as  a  piece  of  all- 
around  work. 

Thus  Sheridan  stands  alone  among  the  great 
all-around  men.  No  other  athlete  has  ever 
reached  seven  thousand  points;  I  believe  it  will 
be  many  years  before  Sheridan  finds  himself 
troubled  with  overmuch  company.1 

In  the  next  rank,  Gill  and  myself  are  the 
only  men  who  have  exceeded  sixty-three  hun- 
dred points.  Powers,  Gunn,  and  Kiely  have 
made  sixty-two  hundred;  Jordan  made  over 
sixty-one  hundred.  It  is  a  hard  contest;  there 
is  no  gainsaying  it;  and  the  man  who  reaches 
six  thousand  points  has  a  right  to  declare  that 
he  knows,  at  least,  a  little  something  about  all- 
around  work. 

1  Since  this  chapter  was  written,  the  all-arounds  of  1910 
have  produced  two  first-class  men,  in  F.  C.  Thompson  of  Los 
Angeles  and  J.  H.  Gillis  of  Vancouver.  Thompson  scored  7009 
points,  and  Gillis  6927. 


CHAPTER  Vin 

RANDOM  MEMORIES 

NEXT  after  the  spring  of  1896,  when  we  made 
our  trip  to  Greece,  I  think  the  autumn  of  1895 
was  the  most  memorable  period  of  my  athletic 
career.  Not  that  my  performances  were  as  good 
as  they  were  two  years  later,  for  they  fell  short 
of  them  by  a  very  considerable  margin;  but  it 
was  a  time  when  two  years  of  good  hard  prac- 
tising in  four  or  five  events  at  once  was  just  be- 
ginning to  show  results,  so  that  I  was  able,  in 
consequence,  in  the  course  of  two  or  three 
months,  thoroughly  to  satisfy  my  appetite  for 
the  spoils  of  conquest,  and  to  see  at  the  same 
time  most  of  the  great  athletes  of  a  great  ath- 
letic year. 

I  began  my  campaign  in  July,  at  the  meeting 
of  the  St.  Mary's  Athletic  Association,  in  Bos- 
ton. I  won  the  high  jump,  the  fifty-six-pound 
weight,  and  the  three  standing  jumps,  — 
breaking  the  B.  A.  A.  record  in  the  last  event, 
—  and  was  second  in  the  shot.  Early  in  Sep- 
tember I  took  part  hi  the  members'  games  of 


164  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

the  Newton  Athletic  Association,  won  three 
firsts,  and  established  three  records  for  the 
Club— 5  feet  9j  in  the  high;  21  feet  7j  in  the 
broad,  and  37  feet  ij  in  the  shot. 

Next  after  this,  I  chanced  to  hear  of  the 
championships  of  the  Maritime  Provinces,  and 
nothing  would  do  but  that  I  should  board  a 
train,  bound  in  a  general  northerly  direction, 
and  go  voyaging  up  to  Moncton,  New  Bruns- 
wick, to  see  what  the  Provinces  were  like.  It 
was  a  delightful  trip.  Never  in  my  life  have  I 
fallen  in  with  people  kinder  or  more  hospitable, 
and  I  enjoyed  every  moment  of  my  stay.  In- 
cidentally, I  won  five  first  prizes  —  the  high 
and  broad  jumps,  the  hurdles,  the  shot,  and 
the  hammer,  and  in  the  high  jump  and  the 
broad  left  new  marks  behind  me  —  5  feet  10| 
in  the  high,  and  21  feet  6  in  the  broad. 

A  week  or  so  later,  I  went  on  to  New  York 
for  the  national  championships.  This  was  the 
year  when  the  London  Athletic  Club  sent  over 
their  team  for  their  dual  games  with  the  New 
York  A.  C.,  and  it  was  a  great  lot  of  athletes 
who  came  up  from  Travers  Island  for  the 
games.  I  tried  only  two  events,  the  high  and 
broad  jumps,  and  finished  third  in  the  high, 
and  second  in  the  broad.  George  Gray,  I  re- 


RANDOM  MEMORIES  165 

member,  did  not  compete  in  the  shot,  and  Con- 
neff  stayed  out  of  the  distance  runs,  but  with 
those  exceptions,  the  New  York  team  was 
practically  the  same  as  that  which  later  faced 
the  Englishmen.  Wefers  won  the  hundred  in 
9f,  and  the  two-twenty  in  2li,  with  Crum 
second  in  both  events.  Burke  won  the  quarter 
in  49f ,  and  Kilpatrick  the  half  in  1.56.2.  Orton 
won  the  mile  and  Bean  the  three  miles.  In  the 
high  jump,  Sweeney  won,  as  a  matter  of  course; 
Hickok  took  the  shot,  and  Mitchell  the  ham- 
mer and  fifty-six,  throwing  139  feet  3j  with 
the  hammer,  and  32  feet  7j  with  the  weight. 
"Steve"  Chase  won  the  hurdles,  in  15|,  and 
Bloss  took  the  broad  jump,  with  22  feet  2. 

A  week  later  came  the  internationals,  a 
complete  and  sweeping  victory  for  America. 
Every  first  place  went  to  the  home  team. 
Wefers  won  the  hundred  in  9|,  with  Bradley 
of  England  second,  and  Crum  third;  and  re- 
peated his  victory  in  the  two-twenty,  winning  in 
2l|,  with  Crum  second.  The  quarter  was  the 
most  exciting  race  of  the  day,  Burke  winning, 
almost  in  the  last  stride,  over  Jordan  and  Fitz- 
herbert,  the  two  Englishmen,  in  49  seconds  flat. 
In  the  half,  Kilpatrick  ran  his  greatest  race, 
winning  over  Horan  of  England,  in  1.53.2,  the 


166  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

first  quarter  being  run  in  a  fraction  over  54 
seconds.  Conneff  won  the  mile,  with  Orton 
second,  in  4.18.1,  and  later  won  the  three  miles 
in  15.36.3.  Chase  won  over  Godfrey  Shaw,  the 
English  champion,  in  the  high  hurdles,  in  15§. 

In  the  field,  America's  victories  were  even 
more  decisive.  Mitchell  won  the  hammer,  with 
137  feet  5j,  and  Gray  the  shot,  with  43  feet  5. 
Bloss  cleared  22  feet  6  in  the  broad  jump,  and 
in  the  high,  Sweeney  performed  the  feat  which 
will  live  forever  in  athletic  history,  making  his 
world's  record  of  6  feet  5|  inches. 

The  following  week,  I  made  another  of  my 
"little  journeys."  The  New  York  A.  C.  held 
their  fall  games  at  Travers  Island,  and  it  oc- 
curred to  me  that  it  would  be  a  pleasant  way 
of  spending  a  Saturday  afternoon  to  go  on  to 
them.  I  have  never  regretted  that  trip.  Trav- 
ers Island  is  a  perfect  spot  under  almost  any 
conditions,  but  that  day  it  was  at  its  finest.  A 
warm,  bright  autumn  afternoon;  a  splendid 
crowd  to  witness  the  sports;  a  band  that  could 
play  popular  music  in  a  fashion  truly  magical 
—  I  fairly  radiated  energy  as  I  sat  waiting  for 
the  first  event  to  be  called.  That  band,  and  its 
leader  —  they  stand  out  with  the  utmost  dis- 
tinctness in  my  mind.  It  was  the  hour  of  the 


RANDOM  MEMORIES  167 

tuneful  and  pleasing  melody,  "The  Band 
Played  On."  Half  a  dozen  times  in  the  course 
of  the  afternoon,  they  repeated  it,  always  end- 
ing amid  a  very  roar  of  applause.  The  leader  — 
Heaven  bless  him!  —  would  turn,  bow  and 
smile,  rap  with  his  baton,  and  once  more  his 
musicians  would  crash  forth  the  verse,  come  to 
those  three  witching,  delightful  notes  which 
marked  the  transition  from  song  to  chorus,  and 
then  once  again,  "Casey  would  dance  with  the 
strawberry  blonde,"  and  the  band,  in  very 
truth,  "played  on."  I  recall  music  and  musi- 
cians with  a  sigh  for  times  departed.  "The 
good  old  times";  it  is  always  the  same  story; 
we  do  not  have  meetings  like  that  now. 

And  what  a  field  was  there !  My  first  event,  I 
remember,  was  the  broad  jump,  and  I  can  re- 
call most  vividly  seeing  W.  B.  Rogers  take  his 
first  try  at  the  event.  He  was  an  athlete  of  rare 
ability,  —  a  year  later  he  was  to  become  na- 
tional champion  at  the  high  hurdles,  —  and 
possessed,  when  in  his  best  shape,  a  tremendous 
amount  of  spring.  He  was  allowed  that  day  a 
handicap  of  3  inches,  which  was  quite  unneces- 
sary. He  came  tearing  down  across  the  field, 
shot  up  into  the  air  in  a  manner  which  made  me 
gasp,  and  landed  away  out  across  the  pit,  al- 


168  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

most  to  the  farther  edge.  It  was  a  beautiful 
leap  —  23  feet,  and  J  inch  —  and  Rogers  did 
not  have  to  worry  further  about  the  ownership 
of  the  prize.  It  was  his  without  his  handicap. 

Then  came  the  hammer.  I  had  a  handicap  of 
25  feet  over  "Jim"  Mitchell,  and  felt  that  if  I 
could  equal  my  practice  work,  I  had  a  very 
fair  chance  to  win.  Yet  somehow,  in  my  eager- 
ness to  get  in  a  good  throw,  I  fouled  on  both  of 
my  first  two  attempts,  and  began  to  despair. 
And  then,  in  the  interval  between  the  second 
and  third  rounds,  Hickok  of  Yale  stepped  up  to 
me,  and  good-naturedly  told  me  that  if  I  would 
alter  the  position  of  my  left  foot  a  little,  I 
would  have  no  trouble  in  staying  in  the  ring.  I 
thanked  him  most  gratefully,  followed  his  ad- 
vice, and  on  my  last  trial  got  in  a  fair  throw  of 
117  feet,  and  heard  myself,  a  few  moments 
later,  announced  as  the  winner.  Pleased?  No 
need  to  answer  that  question.  And  grateful  to 
Hickok  for  that  chance  piece  of  kindly  advice? 
No  need  to  ask  that,  either.  I  suppose  he  never 
thought  of  it  again,  but  it  has  stayed  in  my 
memory  from  that  day  to  this. 

In  the  meantime,  the  events  on  the  track 
were  being  run  off.  Stage  won  the  fifty  yards, 
with  Bradley  of  England  second,  and  Bloss 


RANDOM  MEMORIES  169 

third;  Wefers  won  the  three  hundred;  Burke 
the  six  hundred;  and  Kilpatrick  the  thousand. 
In  the  hurdles  Chase  again  defeated  Shaw,  and 
in  the  same  splendid  time  —  15f . 

I  continued  to  have  good  luck  in  the  field 
events.  I  finished  second  in  the  high  jump; 
second  in  the  shot;  and  third  in  the  hop,  step. 
Altogether  it  was  one  of  the  days  to  be  remem- 
bered with  pleasure,  from  beginning  to  end. 

My  last  two  meetings  of  the  year  were  the 
New  England  championships,  where  I  won 
the  shot,  and  was  second  in  the  high  and  broad 
jumps,  and  the  Harvard  Fall  Meeting,  where  I 
won  the  high  jump  and  the  hammer-throw, 
breaking  the  Harvard  record  in  the  latter 
event,  and  was  second  in  the  broad  jump  and 
the  shot. 

Thus  I  had  competed  in  seven  meetings, 
three  of  them  championships,  and  had  won 
twenty-eight  prizes.  My  desire  to  see  something 
of  outside  competition  was  satisfied,  and  I 
never  again  went  "campaigning"  in  so  thor- 
ough and  business-like  a  manner.  Yet  I  en- 
joyed it  all  thoroughly,  and  the  people  I  met, 
and  the  great  performers  whom  I  saw  have  left 
me  with  a  recollection  of  that  season  which 
could  not  be  more  pleasant  to  look  back  upon. 


170  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

How  the  long  procession  of  champions 
flashes  through  one's  mind,  looking  back  over 
the  races  and  records  of  thirty  years!  How 
many  sterling  sprinters  have  done  their  "ten, 
one";  their  "even  time";  their  "nine,  four"! 
Myers,  Ford,  Sherrill,  Westing,  Owen,  Gary, 
Jewett,  Stage,  Wefers,  Jarvis,  Kraenzlein, 
Long,  Sears,  Walsh,  Hahn,  Parsons  —  what  a 
sight,  to  have  had  them,  each  in  his  prime, 
lined  up  on  the  mark  for  one  great  "hundred"; 
a  championship  of  champions,  past  and  pre- 
sent; a  sight  to  have  crossed  a  continent  to  see! 
And,  mindful  of  the  warning  against  compari- 
sons, who  will  pick  a  man  to  compare  with 
Wefers  in  his  prime  —  champion  at  the  hun- 
dred and  two-twenty  in  1895,  1896,  and  1897! 
the  equal  of  the  best  in  the  shorter  dash,  and  at 
the  furlong,  beyond  all  question,  the  greatest 
and  most  consistent  performer  the  world  has 
yet  seen. 

Verily,  this  team  of  1895  was  a  great  one. 
Look  again  to  the  past  and  present  of  the  quar- 
ter. The  great  Myers,  —  six  times  in  succes- 
sion the  winner  of  the  title,  —  Dohm,  Downs, 
Burke,  Long,  Waller,  Taylor,  Hillman  —  here 
again  it  would  be  hard  to  dethrone  Burke,  the 
rangy  champion  of  1895.  Myers,  I  suppose,  — 


RANDOM  MEMORIES  171 

attempting  the  impossible  by  trying  to  allow  for 
the  difference  in  the  conditions  under  which 
the  men  competed  —  Myers,  perhaps,  was  a 
greater  runner  than  Burke;  "Maxey"  Long,  at 
the  height  of  his  career,  established  the  fastest 
records  yet  known;  and  still,  year  in  and  year 
out,  as  a  racer,  tried  and  never  found  wanting, 
as  a  seasoned  campaigner,  knowing  all  the 
theory  and  practice  of  the  game,  it  is  no  light 
task  to  attempt  to  supplant  Burke  at  the  quar- 
ter-mile. Look  at  his  records  for  the  three 
years  when  he  was  national  champion  — 
1895, 1896,  and  1897:  49§,  48f,  49  flat;  I  speak 
subject  to  correction,  but  I  can  recall  no  other 
quarter-miler  who  ran  so  many  of  his  races  un- 
der 50  seconds  —  it  became,  with  Burke,  al- 
most a  matter  of  habit  to  run  somewhere  down 
in  the  forties,  whenever  he  faced  the  starter. 
A  great  quarter-miler,  ranking  with  the  best. 

Nor  is  the  1895  team  to  be  beaten  in  the  half. 
Look  at  the  list  of  the  great  half-milers :  Myers, 
Goodwin,  Dadmun,  Turner,  Kilpatrick,  Cregan, 
Burke,  Lightbody,  Sheppard  —  and  to  come 
down  to  this  very  year,  Gissing  and  Lunghi. 
Kilpatrick  was  champion  in  1894,  1895,  and 
1896,  and  his  times  were  all  good  — 1.55.4, 
1.56.2,  and  1.57.3.  Yet  I  think  time  never  wor- 


172  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

ried  Kilpatrick  a  great  deal;  he  won  his  races, 
—  that  was  the  principal  thing,  —  and  he  was 
alone  in  his  class.  When  that  one  supreme  oc- 
casion arose  in  1895,  and  the  Englishmen  had 
to  be  faced,  his  1.53.2  was  the  result.  And  it 
remained  for  fourteen  years,  until  1909  saw 
Lunghi's  phenomenal  half  at  the  Canadian 
championships,  in  1.52.4.  "Mel"  Sheppard, 
of  course,  at  once  suggests  the  nearest  approach 
to  Kilpatrick,  as  a  champion  and  a  consistent 
performer,  as  well.  Witness  his  three  cham- 
pionships in  1906,  1907,  and  1908:  1.55.2, 
1.55.1,  1.55.3  —  great  records  those!  Witness 
his  double  win  at  the  Olympic  games,  at  Lon- 
don, in  1908,  when  he  established  two  new 
Olympic  records;  1.52.4  for  the  eight  hundred 
metres;  4.03.2  for  the  fifteen  hundred  metres. 
And  yet,  if  one  can  say  that  there  has  been, 
since  Kilpatrick's  day,  a  half -nailer  greater  than 
himself,  which  is,  for  a  number  of  reasons,  al- 
ways an  arguable  point,  such  a  contention  would 
amount,  at  best,  to  little  more  than  a  profitless 
splitting  of  hairs. 

Coming  now  to  the  mile,  where,  since  the 
days  of  1895,  can  we  find  another  "Tommy" 
Conneff,  with  his  record  of  4.15.3?  Fredericks, 
Carter,  Orton,  Cregan,  Alec  Grant,  Lightbody, 


RANDOM  MEMORIES  173 

Sullivan,  Trube,  —  there  have  been  plenty  of 
good  men  on  the  championship  list,  but  that 
record  of  4.15.3,  made  at  Travers  Island  in 
August  of  1895,  still  hangs  on  in  most  amazing 
fashion.  If  I  were  to  hazard  a  prophecy,  —  al- 
ways a  dangerous  thing  to  do,  and  especially  so 
for  one  who  knows  little  of  the  distance  game, 
— it  would  appear  to  me  that  Paull  of  Penn- 
sylvania is  the  man  who  will  some  day  set  new 
figures  for  the  distance.  Surely  his  4.17.4,  at 
the  intercollegiates  of  1909,  was  a  performance 
placing  him  at  once  in  the  very  foremost  rank 
of  the  champions  at  the  mile. 

In  the  high  hurdles  it  is  true  that  "Steve" 
Chase  would  no  longer  be  invincible,  as  he  was 
in  1895.  Alec  Jordan,  Ducharme,  Puffer,  Cope- 
land,  —  all  these  were  great  men  before  him,  — 
yet  no  one  of  them  was  quite  his  equal.  But 
with  the  appearance  of  Kraenzlein  we  acknow- 
ledge for  the  first  time  a  superior,  and  the 
great  trio  which  represented  America  at  the 
Olympic  games  in  London  —  Smithson,  Gar- 
rels,  and  Shaw  —  are  all,  I  suppose,  faster  men. 
And  yet,  for  all  that,  how  slight  the  improve- 
ment has  been  over  such  a  length  of  time! 
From  15|  in  Chase's  day  to  15i  in  Kraenz- 
lein's,  and  finally  to  15  flat  in  the  days  of  For- 


174  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

rest  Smithson.  If  Chase  must  make  a  bow  to 
these  latter-day  heroes  it  is  no  very  deep  one, 
surely;  more  a  friendly  nod  of  salutation  to 
equal  masters  of  the  same  craft. 

In  the  field  events  improvement  in  fifteen 
years  has  been  a  little  more  marked  than  on  the 
track;  yet  not  so  much  greater  after  all.  For 
first  of  all  in  the  high  jump  no  one  has  risen  to 
take  the  place  of  M.  F.  Sweeney.  That  6  feet 
5 1  still  defies  all  attempts  to  displace  it,  and 
from  all  appearances  is  still  safe  for  many 
years  to  come.  Nor  have  I  the  least  doubt  that 
if  Sweeney  had  been  forced  to  it  by  some  man 
nearly  his  equal  he  could  have  improved  even 
upon  that  wonderful  mark.  He  was  a  marvel, 
possessing  speed,  spring,  and  something  else  as 
well  —  the  ability  of  the  thorough  gymnast  to 
handle  his  body  to  perfection,  every  fraction  of 
a  second,  from  the  moment  he  began  his  run 
until  he  landed  in  safety  on  the  farther  side  of 
the  bar.  The  first  time  I  ever  saw  Sweeney 
jump  was  in  a  special  match  with  Phil  Stingel, 
then  the  New  England  champion.  Sweeney  al- 
lowed Stingel  a  handicap  of  three  inches,  and 
the  Boston  man  proved  himself  no  mean  antag- 
onist. Both  were  graceful  and  finished  jump- 
ers, and  both  took  height  after  height,  without 


RANDOM  MEMORIES  175 

a  miss,  until  they  had  cleared  six  feet  in  safety. 
Then  Stingel  failed;  Sweeney  had  the  bar 
placed  at  6  feet  3  J  and  was  over  at  his  first  at- 
tempt. And  all  this  was  in  a  tiny  indoor  gym- 
nasium with  scarcely  room  enough  to  get  the 
proper  distance  for  the  necessary  run  at  the 
bar.  I  jumped  against  Sweeney  many  times 
myself,  and  never  have  I  met  with  a  more  quiet 
and  modest  champion.  He  never  talked  about 
his  own  prowess,  was  always  interested  in  the 
work  of  the  other  men  competing,  and  was  in 
every  way  the  ideal  athlete  and  companion. 
The  name  of  W.  Byrd  Page,  with  his  leap  of  6 
feet  4,  is  the  one  great  one  before  Sweeney's 
time;  since  his  day,  Baxter,  Winsor,  Moffitt, 
and  Porter  have  all  made  great  records  at  the 
game;  but  the  equal  of  this  wonderful  jumper 
has  yet  to  be  found. 

In  the  broad  jump  the  name  of  E.  B.  Bloss 
does  not  stand  out  as  conspicuously  as  it  did  in 
the  days  of  the  great  team  which  we  are  now  es- 
timating. Not  that  Bloss  was  not  a  fine  per- 
former. He  was,  as  his  records  and  lists  of 
championships  prove.  He  was  three  times  na- 
tional champion,  twice  champion  at  the  inter- 
collegiates,  and  a  twenty-three-foot  man  into 
the  bargain.  Before  him,  other  great  broad- 


176  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

jumpers  were  Malcolm  W.  Ford,  five  times 
champion,  Alec  Jordan,  Halpin,  with  his  win- 
ning jump  of  23  feet,  in  1888,  Copeland  and 
Reber,  both  of  whom  exceeded  that  distance, 
Goff,  the  all-around  champion  —  good  broad- 
jumpers  have  always  been  plenty;  —  and  then, 
succeeding  directly  to  Bloss,  come  the  two 
giants  at  the  game,  Prinstein  and  Kraenzlein, 
with  their  astonishing  records  of  24  feet  7^ 
and  24  feet  4j;  Dan  Kelly,  of  Oregon,  with  his 
23  feet  11,  and  last  of  all,  the  surprise  of  the 
Olympic  games  at  London,  F.  C.  Irons  of  Chi- 
cago, with  his  winning  leap  of  24  feet  6j. 

In  the  weights,  also,  the  glory  of  Gray  and 
Mitchell  has  at  last  been  eclipsed.  But  what  a 
length  of  time  the  two  men  remained  unbeat- 
able! Before  Gray's  time,  Lambrecht  had  won 
the  championship  with  the  shot  for  six  years  in 
succession,  from  1881  to  1886,  inclusive.  And 
then  George  Gray  appeared  upon  the  scene. 
Beginning  in  1887,  with  the  exception  of  one 
year,  —  1895,  —  when  he  did  not  compete,  he 
held  the  title  continuously  for  ten  years,  win- 
ning for  the  last  time  in  1896;  and  then,  after 
the  lapse  of  half  a  dozen  years,  competing 
again  in  1902,  and  winning  with  a  put  of  46 
feet  5,  only  7  inches  short  of  his  great  record  of 


RANDOM  MEMORIES  177 

47  feet,  made  in  1893,  and  long  the  record  for 
the  world.  Small  wonder  that  the  names  of 
other  champions  do  not  trouble  us  much,  after 
a  reign  of  this  length.  A  few  famous  names  we 
may  find  from  time  to  time — Hickok,  Sheldon, 
Horgan  of  Ireland,  Beck  of  Yale,  and  finally,  in 
1905,  W.  W.  Coe  of  Boston  made  his  famous 
put  of  49  feet  6,  which  stood  as  the  record  un- 
til 1907,  when  Ralph  Rose,  the  western  giant, 
beat  Coe's  mark  by  a  half  inch,  and  in  1909, 
for  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  athletics, 
actually  achieved  a  distance  of  51  feet! 

Great  as  Rose's  fame  is  to-day,  I  am  not 
quite  sure  that  his  powers  as  an  athlete,  ex- 
cepting by  those  who  follow  the  sport  closely, 
are  really  appreciated  to  the  full.  It  is  a  com- 
mon occurrence  to  hear  some  one  say:  "Rose? 
Oh,  yes,  if  I  were  as  big  as  that  fellow,  I  could 
put  a  shot  fifty  feet."  Yet  size  —  alone  —  is 
not  the  secret  of  his  success.  There  are  bigger 
men  than  Rose  in  the  world;  not  a  great  many, 
I  dare  say,  but  still  some.  But  Rose  has  the 
necessary  knowledge  of  the  game.  He  is  not 
only  a  marvelous  shot-putter,  but  a  fine  per- 
former with  the  discus,  the  hammer,  and  the 
fifty-six.  All  in  all,  the  most  wonderful  all- 
around  weight  man  of  to-day. 


178  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

Even  as  Gray's  record  in  the  shot  has  been 
beaten,  so,  too,  in  the  hammer  and  fifty-six,  the 
marks  made  by  James  S.  Mitchell  have  been 
eclipsed.  Yet  what  a  record  Mitchell  has  left 
behind  him!  A  champion  for  twenty  years,  — 
from  1885  to  1905,  —  with  a  list  of  victories  so 
staggering  that  a  volume  could  be  devoted  to 
them.  Four  times  champion  of  Ireland  with 
the  hammer  and  fifty-six,  three  times  cham- 
pion of  England  with  the  hammer,  nine  times 
champion  of  America  with  the  hammer,  and 
ten  times  with  the  fifty-six,  six  times  cham- 
pion of  Canada  with  both,  and  a  few  shot 
and  discus  championships  thrown  in  for  good 
measure  —  surely  the  name  of  James  S.  Mitch- 
ell is  deservedly  one  of  the  greatest  in  all  ath- 
letic history. 

Before  Mitchell's  day  W.  B.  Curtis,  Lam- 
brecht,  Coudon,  Queckberner,  and  Barry  were 
the  champions.  With  the  coming  of  John 
Flanagan,  first  with  his  double,  and  then  with 
his  triple,  turn  in  the  hammer,  and  with  his 
double  turn  in  the  fifty-six,  the  old  records  had 
to  go.  I  threw  against  Flanagan,  shortly  after 
his  arrival  in  this  country,  at  the  games  of  the 
old  Newton  Athletic  Club.  He  did  not  then 
have  his  thorough  mastery  of  the  event  which 


EALPH  ROSE 


RANDOM  MEMORIES  179 

he  was  later  to  acquire;  the  wire  hammer-han- 
dles, I  remember,  kept  breaking,  and  that  dis- 
turbed him;  altogether,  I  was  a  bit  disap- 
pointed, after  all  that  I  had  heard  of  his  per- 
formances. But  I  can  remember  how  his  size 
and  build  impressed  me,  and  what  a  pleasant 
talk  I  had  with  him  about  athletics  on  both 
sides  of  the  water.  We  had  a  crowd  of  specta- 
tors, I  recall,  which  seemed  to  me  quite  large, 
and  Flanagan,  after  asking  me  if  it  was  an  aver- 
age attendance,  good-naturedly  observed  that 
they  turned  out  in  better  numbers  at  home, 
just  to  watch  him  at  his  daily  practice.  A  few 
years  later,  when  I  competed  abroad  myself,  I 
appreciated  the  truth  of  what  he  told  me.  Ten 
thousand  people  at  a  little  two-f or-a-cent  set  of 
Saturday  afternoon  games,  —  three  or  four 
thousand  at  the  games  of  a  little  country  parish, 
—  it  was  all  a  revelation  to  me.  Surely  we 
may  learn,  in  this  respect,  from  our  English 
friends.  It  is  "sport  for  sport's  sake"  with 
them;  the  blight  of  the  "world's  record"  has 
not  yet  fallen  upon  the  spirit  of  their  play. 

Other  first-class  performers  with  the  hammer 
to-day  are  Matt  McGrath  of  the  New  York 
A.  C.,  A.  D.  Flaw  of  California,  and  Lee  J. 
Talbot  of  Cornell,  yet  Flanagan,  as  the  actual 


180  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

performer,  —  the  sure  man  in  an  event  notori- 
ously uncertain,  —  always  to  be  depended 
upon  in  an  emergency,  is  the  leader  to-day,  and 
bids  fair  to  remain  so  until  he  wearies  of  the 
long  list  of  championships  which  now  lie  behind 
him  —  a  modest,  quiet  giant,  a  master  of  his 
specialties,  a  fit  successor  to  Mitchell  as  a  many 
times  champion  and  record-holder  —  both 
with  glory  undimmed,  so  long  as  athletic  his- 
tory shall  endure. 

Thus,  to  come  back  to  the  point  whence  I 
have  rambled  away,  that  season  of  1895  was  a 
notable  one  in  the  history  of  track  and  field, 
and  one  that  I  like  always  to  recall.  Yet  in 
1896  as  well,  I  had  some  pleasant  experiences. 
After  our  return  from  the  Olympic  games  I 
won  the  all-around  championship  of  New 
England  for  the  first  time,  and  later  went 
abroad  again  and  competed  in  England  a  num- 
ber of  times  that  summer.  Apparently  the  cli- 
mate did  me  no  good,  for  my  performances  were 
poor.  At  home  I  was  doing  5  feet  9  and  10, 
consistently,  in  the  high  jump,  yet  abroad  5 
feet  6  meant  hard  work  for  me.  But  it  was  good 
fun  —  I  made  many  friends,  got  more  or  less  in 
touch  with  the  English  point  of  view  concerning 


RANDOM  MEMORIES  181 

athletics,  and  was  altogether  sorry  when  I  had 
to  come  home  again.  I  competed  four  times 
after  my  return.  In  the  national  champion- 
ships I  won  second  in  the  high  jump ;  in  the 
New  England  championships,  which  I  entered 
without  preparation,  I  finished  second  in  the 
high  hurdles  and  hammer,  and  third  in  the  high 
jump,  shot,  and  mile  walk ;  after  which  I  took 
a  flying  trip  to  Canada,  winning  second  in  the 
high  jump,  shot,  and  high  hurdles,  and  third  in 
the  fifty-six.  I  ended  the  season  with  the  Fall 
games  at  Harvard,  where  I  first  began  to  round 
into  form  for  my  lucky  year,  —  1897,  —  win- 
ning five  seconds  —  in  the  shot,  hammer,  high 
jump,  high  hurdles,  and  broad  jump,  and  doing 
good  performances  in  all  five. 

Plenty  of  other  memories  come  back  to  me, 
as  I  glance  up  at  my  medal-case  —  the  two 
national  all-arounds,  of  1897  and  1903;  the 
high-jump  medal  of  1907,  when  I  was  carica- 
tured in  one  of  the  New  York  papers  as  an  old- 
timer  who  thought  he  still  had  a  "kick"  left  in 
him,  and  then  turned  the  tables  by  clearing  5 
feet  10,  in  Madison  Square  Garden,  the  best 
actual  jump  of  the  evening,  and  winning  first 
place  in  the  event.  Similarly,  the  New  England 
all-around  championships  of  1909  and  1910,  re- 


182  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

garded  in  the  light  of  "fruit  from  an  old  tree," 
are  recent  and  not  undervalued  trophies.  It 
seems  a  far  cry  from  the  tarnished  five-cent 
piece,  with  its  faded  ribbon,  —  the  prize  of 
1889,  —  to  the  gold  medals  of  to-day  —  the 
championships  of  twenty  years  later.  But  I 
grow  garrulous  —  the  twenty  years  is  ended  — 
and  the  chapter  as  well. 


POSTSCRIPT 

FOR  THOSE  WHO  COME  AFTER 

THE  giving  of  advice  is  one  of  those  useless 
luxuries  with  which  we  indulge  ourselves  in  our 
advancing  years.  If  this  brief  afterword  savors 
of  "preaching"  let  the  youthful  athlete  deride 
it,  and  acquire  his  experience  for  himself.  It 
has  one  merit,  —  it  is  brief. 

As  regards  the  physical  side  of  athletics, 
don't  begin  too  young.  There  is  plenty  of  time. 
Don't  overdo.  The  age  of  the  Marathon  craze 
will  pass.  A  young  man  can  have  no  healthier 
taste  than  a  liking  for  athletics,  but  he  should 
take  his  exercise  rationally,  and  stop  short  of 
exhaustion.  Take  care  to  have  yourself  looked 
over  by  a  competent  physician,  and  aim  to 
make  your  athletics  improve  your  health  and 
not  endanger  it. 

As  regards  the  mental  side  of  athletics,  make 
up  your  mind  that  there  is  a  science  of  each 
separate  event,  and  set  your  wits  to  work  to 
solve  it.  Watch  good  performers;  study  pic- 
tures of  famous  athletes  hi  action;  train,  if  pos- 


184  REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  ATHLETE 

sible,  with  men  who  understand  their  events; 
unconsciously  you  will  imitate  their  form.  Re- 
member that  perseverance  and  intelligent  prac- 
tice accomplish  wonders. 

As  regards  the  moral  side  of  athletics,  play 
fair.  You  are  going  to  do  your  best  to  win;  that 
is  natural  and  right.  But  don't  regard  every 
competitor  as  an  obstacle  in  your  path;  look 
upon  him  as  a  friend,  with  the  same  interests 
and  ambitions  as  your  own.  You  cannot  be 
everything.  It  is  a  large  world.  Contestants 
are  many,  and  champions  rare.  But  there  is  a 
lot  of  good,  healthy  fun  to  be  gained  from  ath- 
letics, and  not  the  least  part  of  it  is  the  trying 
to  make  the  most  of  those  abilities  with  which 
Nature  has  seen  fit  to  furnish  you.  Do  your 
honest  best  and  you  have  done  something 
which,  in  itself,  is  thoroughly  worth  while. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


All-around  championship,  Sheri- 
dan and  Garrels  compared,  78, 
79,  80;  list  of  events,  101; 
method  of  scoring,  102 ;  early 
champions,  103,  104 ;  I  begin 
training,  107-115 ;  New  Eng- 
land aU-arounds  of  1895,116- 
121;  of  1896,  142;  of  1897, 
143,144;  national  all-arounds 
of  1897,144-149;  of  1898  and 
1899,151;  of  1900,151-154; 
of  1901  and  1902,  154;  of 
1903,  154-156;  of  1904,  156, 
157;  of  1905,  158-161;  Mar- 
tin Sheridan's  records,  161, 
162;  national  all-arounds  of 
1910,  162. 

Amsler,  E.  S.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate hurdler,  77. 

Athletics,  my  early  interest  in, 
1-9 ;  I  enter  my  first  meeting, 
10 ;  true  theory  of,  32. 

Atkinson,  G.  H.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate high  jumper,  88. 

Baker,  Wendell,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate runner,  53,  66. 

Barry,  W.  J.  M. ,  national  cham- 
pion hammer-thrower,  178- 

Baxter,  H.  H.,  champion  pole- 
vaulter,  23. 

Baxter,  I.  K.,  intercollegiate, 
national,  and  Olympic  cham- 
pion high  jumper,  89, 90,  91, 
175. 


Beck,  A.  F.,  champion  intercol- 
legiate half-miler,  73. 

Beck,  F.,  champion  intercollegi- 
ate shot-putter,  94,  95,  177. 

Bigelow,  F.  H.,  Harvard  sprint- 
er, 43,  48,  49. 

Blake,  Arthur,  member  of  B. 
A.  A.  Olympic  team  of  1896, 
124, 125, 128,  129, 134,  139. 

Bloss,  E.  B.,  champion  intercol- 
legiate broad  jumper,  85 ;  com- 
petitor in  all-around  cham- 
pionship, 147,  148;  national 
and  international  broad  jump 
champion,  165,  166,  168,  175. 

Boardman,  Dexter,  champion 
intercollegiate  quarter-miler, 
70. 

Bodelson,  0.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate broad  jumper,  84. 

Borcherling,  F.  A.,  champion 
intercollegiate  walker,  82, 83. 

Boston  Athletic  Association, 
formed  in  1887,  2 ;  sends  team 
to  Olympic  games  of  1896, 
124-141. 

Boyce,  W.  B.,  competitor  in 
New  England  all-around 
championship,  143,  144. 

Bradley,  G.  A.,  competitor  for 
England  in  international 
games  of  1895,  165,  168. 

Bremer,  J.  L.,  Jr.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate hurdler,  59,  81 ; 
his  defeat  by  Kraenzlein,  61. 


188 


INDEX 


Brewer,  Charles,  his  records  at 
school,  11,  12. 

Brigham,  F.  H.,  a  fine  all- 
around  performer,  116-121. 

Brooks,  H.  S.t  Jr.,  national 
and  intercollegiate  champion 
sprinter,  23,  53. 

Buchholtz,  C.  T.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate pole-vaulter,  98. 

Burke,  Thomas  E.,  champion 
all-around  runner,  68,  69,  71, 
73,  125,  133,  134,  137,  165, 
169,  170, 171. 

Burnham,  Arthur,  member  of 
B.  A.  A.,  instrumental  in 
forming  B.  A.  A.  Olympic 
team  of  1896,  124, 125. 

Cady,  E.  H.,  champion  intercol- 
legiate hurdler,  76. 

Campbell,  C.  S.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate pole-vaulter,  99. 

Carpenter,  L.  A.,  New  England 
all-around  champion,  116-121. 

Carter,  E.  C.,  national  cham- 
pion distance  runner,  23,  172. 

Cartmell,  N.  J.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate sprinter,  65. 

Gary,  L.  H.,  national  and  inter- 
collegiate champion  sprinter, 
23,  54,  170. 

Castleman,  F.  R.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate hurdler,  81. 

Chadwick,  C.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate hammer-thrower, 
96,  97. 

Chaney,  G.  C.,  Harvard  high 
jumper,  37,  38,  39. 

Chase,  S.,  champion  intercolle- 
giate, national,  and  interna- 
tional hurdler,  76,  77,  165, 
166,  169, 173, 174. 


Clapp,  E.  J.,  champion  intercol. 
legiate  hurdler,  77,  81. 

Clapp,  R.  G.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate pole-vaulter,  98. 

Clark,  Ellery  H.,  early  efforts, 
1-10;  record  at  potato  race, 
29,  30;  Harvard-Pennsylva- 
nia games,  46-51 ;  Olympic 
champion,  136, 137 ;  New  Eng- 
land all-around  champion, 
142-144,  181,  182;  national 
all-around  champion,  146- 
149,  155,  156. 

Clark,  J.  G.,  Harvard  broad 
jumper,  43,  49. 

Coe,  W.  W.,  Jr.,  national  cham- 
pion shot-putter,  177. 

Conneff,  "Tommy"  (T.  P.), 
champion  distance  runner,  23, 
40, 165,  166,  172,  173. 

Connolly,  James  B.,  winner  of 
triple  leap  at  Olympic  games 
of  1896,  125,  133,  134,  135. 

Conover,  J.  P.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate jumper,  84,  88. 

Converse,  J.  H.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate hurdler,  77. 

Cook,  E.  T.,  champion  intercol- 
legiate broad  jumper  and  pole- 
vaulter,  88,  99. 

Cooney,  C.,  champion  intercolle- 
giate hammer-thrower,  98. 

Copeland,  A.  F.,  national  cham- 
pion hurdler,  23,  173;  na- 
tional champion  broad  jumper, 
176. 

Corbin,  J.,  champion  intercol- 
legiate half-miler,  72. 

Cosgrave,  J.,  national  all-around 
champion,  122,  144, 146,  148. 

Coudon,  W.  L.,  champion 
weight-thrower,  24,  178. 


INDEX 


189 


Coxe,  A.  B.,  champion  intercol- 
legiate shot-putter  and  ham- 
mer-thrower, 92,  95, 96,  97. 

Craig,  R.  C.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate sprinter,  57,  65. 

Cregan,  J.  F.,  intercollegiate 
and  national  champion  at 
half-mile  and  mile,  72,  74, 
171,  172. 

Crum,  Jonn  V.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate sprinter,  54, 55, 165. 

Curtis,  T.  P.,  winner  of  hurdles 
at  Olympic  games  of  1896, 
125,  132,  134,  137. 

Curtis,  W.  BM  national  cham- 
pion hammer-thrower,  178. 

Cuyler,  T.,  champion  intercol- 
legiate miler,  73. 

Dadmun,  H.  L.,  national  cham- 
pion at  half  mile,  171. 

Denholm,  W.  J.,  Harvard  sprin- 
ter, 43,  48,  49. 

DeWitt,  J.  R.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate hammer-thrower, 
96,  98. 

Dohm,  W.  C.,  national  cham- 
pion at  quarter  mile,  23,  170 ; 
intercollegiate  champion  at 
quarter  and  half,  66,  71 ;  in- 
tercollegiate champion  at 
broad  jump,  85. 

Dole,  C.  S.,  represented  Cali- 
fornia in  national  all-arounds 
of  1897,  and  won  third  prize, 
144,  149. 

Downs,  W.  C.,  national  cham- 
pion at  quarter  mile,  23, 170 ; 
intercollegiate  champion  at 
quarter  and  half,  66,  71. 

Dray,  W.  R.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate pole-vaulter,  99. 


Ducharme,  F.  T.,  national 
champion  hurdler,  173. 

Duffey,  Arthur,  a  great  ath- 
lete, convicted  of  profession- 
alism, 62-64. 

Evins,  S.  H.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate shot-putter  and 
hammer-thrower,  92,  95. 

Faries,  R.,  champion  intercol- 
legiate miler,  74. 

Fearing,  G.  R.,  Jr.,  champion 
intercollegiate  high  jumper 
and  hurdler,  36,  81,  89,  91. 

Fetterman,  W.  B.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate walker,  43,  49, 
83. 

Fifty-six  pound  weight,  see 
throwing  fifty-six  pound 
weight. 

Finlay,  J.  R.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate shot-putter  and 
hammer-thrower,  92,  95,  97. 

Fish,  H.  H.,  Harvard  quarter- 
miler,  49. 

Fitzherhert,  W.,  competitor  for 
England  in  international 
games  of  1895,  165. 

Flack,  E.,  winner  of  1500  and 
800  metres  at  Olympic  games 
of  1896, 134,  136,  139. 

Flanagan,  John,  national  cham- 
pion weight-thrower,  26,  96, 
178,  179. 

Ford,  Malcolm  W.,  champion 
all-around  athlete,  23,  25, 103, 
104,  170,  176. 

Foster,  R.  C.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate sprinter,  65. 

Fox,  F.  B.,  Harvard  hurdler,  47, 
48. 


190 


INDEX 


Fredericks,  H.,  champion  dis- 
tance runner,  23,  172. 

Gardner,  G.  P.,  Jr.,  champion 
intercollegiate  hurdler,  82. 

Gardner,  H.  L.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate pole-vaulter,  99. 

Garrela,  J.  C.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate hurdler,  78,  81,  82, 
173;  rating  as  all-around 
athlete,  79,  80. 

Garrett,  Robert,  winner  of  dis- 
cus and  shot  at  Olympic 
games  of  1896,  125,  134,  135. 

George,  A.  B.,  champion  dis- 
tance runner,  23. 

Gilbert,  A.  C.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate pole-vaulter,  99. 

Gill,  H.,  ^national  all-around 
champion,  151, 152,  153,  154, 
162. 

Gillis,  J.  H.,  competitor  in  na- 
tional all-around  champion- 
ship, 162. 

Gissing,  H.,  national  champion 
half-miler,  171. 

Goff,  E.  W.,  national  all-around 
champion,  40,  104;  national 
champion  broad  jumper,  176. 

Goulding,  G.  T.  S.,  English  en- 
try at  Olympic  games  of  1896, 
134,  137. 

Goodwin,  W.  H.,  Jr.,  national 
champion  at  half-mile,  23, 171; 
intercollegiate  champion  at 
quarter  and  half,  65,  71. 

Graham,  John,  trainer  of  B. 
A.  A.  Olympic  team  of  1896, 
125,  145,  146,  148. 

Grant,  Alec.,  national  and  in- 
tercollegiate champion  two- 
miler,  75,  172. 


Gray,  George  R.,  national 
champion  shot-putter,  24, 164, 
166,  176,  177. 

Guerrero,  the  pedestrian,  8. 

Gunn,  Adam,  national  all- 
around  champion,  154,  155, 
156,  157,  159, 161,  162. 

Hahn,  A.,  national  champion 
sprinter,  170. 

Half-mile  run,  school  record, 
10 ;  national  champions  at,  23, 
171 ;  intercollegiate  cham- 
pions, 71,  72,  73. 

Hallock,  H.  L.,  national  cham- 
pion high  jumper,  23. 

Hallowell,  N.  P.,  Jr.,  Harvard 
hurdler,  47,  48. 

Halpin,  W.,  national  champion 
at  broad  jump,  176. 

Harding,  H.  T.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate hurdler,  76. 

Hare,  Truxton,  competitor  in 
all-around  championship,  156, 
157. 

Harmer,  W.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate miler,  73. 

Harvard  University,  training  for 
track  team,  28 ;  dual  games 
with  Yale,  41, 42 ;  dual  games 
with  University  of  Pennsyl- 
vania, 43-51. 

Haskins,  Guy,  champion  inter- 
collegiate half-miler  and  miler, 
73,  74,  75. 

Hegelman,  the  pedestrian,  8. 

Hennan,  David,  competitor  in 
New  England  all  -  around 
championship,  143. 

Herty,  the  pedestrian,  8. 

Hickok,  W.  O.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate shot  -  putter  and 


INDEX 


191 


hammer-thrower,  93,  94,  95, 
97,  165, 168, 177. 

Hillman,  H.  L.,  national  cham- 
pion quarter-miler,  170. 

Hoffman,  R.  D.,  University  of 
Pennsylvania  sprinter,  43,  48, 
49. 

Holland,  W.  J.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate quarter-miler,  70; 
competitor  in  New  England 
all-around  championship,  143, 
144. 

Hollister,  Evan,  champion  inter- 
collegiate half-miler,  43,  49, 
72. 

Hopkins,  E.  L.,  contestant  in 
New  England  all-arounds  of 
1896,  142. 

Horan,  F.  S.,  competitor  for 
England  in  international 
games  of  1895,  165. 

Horgan,  D.,  national  champion 
shot-putter,  177. 

Horner,  J.,  Jr.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate shot-putter,  95. 

Horton,  D.  S.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate pole-vaulter,  99. 

Howe,  L.  V.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate hurdler,  81,  82. 

Hoyt,  W.  W.,  intercollegiate 
and  Olympic  champion  pole- 
vaulter,  43,  49,  98,  125,  137, 
138. 

Hubbard,  J.  H.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate hurdler,  77,  81. 

Hundred  yards  dash,  school  rec- 
ord, 10;  national  champions 
at,  23,  170;  intercollegiate 
champions,  53-65. 

Hurdle  race,  national  cham- 
pion at,  23,  173;  intercol- 
legiate champions,  76-82. 


International  games,  England 
vs.  America,  1895,  165,  166. 

Irons,  F.  C.,  national  champion 
at  broad  jump,  176. 

Jamison,  H.  B.,  member  of 
Princeton  Olympic  Team  of 
1896,  125, 134. 

Jane  way,  H.  H.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate shot-putter,  92. 

Jarvis,  F.  W.,  national  cham- 
pion sprinter,  170. 

Jarvis,  6.  O.,  champion  intercol- 
legiate miler,  74. 

Jenkins,  J.  F.,  Jr.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate broad  jumper, 
84. 

Jewett,  H.,  national  champion 
sprinter,  170. 

Jones,  S.  S.,  intercollegiate,  na- 
tional, and  Olympic  champion 
high  jumper,  90,  91. 

Jordan,  A.  A.,  champion  hurdler, 
23,  173;  national  all-around 
champion,  103,  104,  162 ;  na- 
tional champion  broad  jumper, 
176. 

Jordan,  G.,  competitor  for  Eng- 
land in  international  games 
of  1895, 165. 

Kelly,  D.,  national  champion  at 
broad  jump,  176. 

Kernan,  R.  P.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate high  jumper,  90, 
91. 

Kiely,  T.  F.,  national  all-around 
champion,  156,  157,  158,  162. 

Kilpatrick,  C.  H.,  intercollegi- 
ate, national,  and  interna- 
tional champion  at  half-mile, 
72, 165,  169,  171, 172. 


192 


INDEX 


Knox,  W.  F.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate broad  jumper,  88. 

Kraenzlein,  Alvin  C.,  a  marvel- 
ous athlete,  58 ;  intercollegi- 
ate champion  and  breaker  of 
•world's  record  in  low  hurdles, 
59-62,  81,  82,  87;  national 
and  Olympic  champion,  77, 
87, 170,  173,  176. 

Krueger,  W.  F.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate shot-putter,  95. 

Lambrecht,  F.  L.,  national  cham- 
pion shot-putter  and  hammer- 
thrower,  24,  176,  178. 

Lane,  F.  A.,  member  of  Prince- 
ton Olympic  team  of  1896, 
125,  133. 

Larkin,  F.,  champion  intercol- 
legiate weight-thrower  and 
jumper,  92. 

Leavitt,  R.  Q.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate pole-vaulter,  98. 

Lee,  H.  H.,  champion  intercol- 
legiate sprinter,  53;  cham- 
pion intercollegiate  broad 
jumper,  84. 

Lee,  J.  P.,  champion  intercol- 
legiate hurdler,  81. 

Lermusiaux,  A.,  French  entry 
in  Marathon  race  at  Olympic 
games  of  1896,  134,  139. 

Leslie,  N.  T.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate high  jumper,  89. 

Lightbody,  J.  D.,  national  cham- 
pion at  half-mile  and  mile, 
171,  172. 

Little,  C.  C.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate shot-putter,  95. 

Long,  Daniel,  a  great  all- 
around  athlete,  116-121. 

Long,  M.  W.,   champion    and 


record  holder  at  the  qaarter- 

mile,  69,  71, 170,  171. 
Loues,    S.,    Greek    winner    of 

Marathon    race,    at  Olympic 

games  of  1896,  138,  139. 
Ludington,   W.   H.,    champion 

intercollegiate  hurdler,  76. 
Lunghi,   E.,   record    holder   at 

half-mile,  72,  171,  172. 

McCracken,  J.  C.,  cham- 
pion intercollegiate  hammer- 
thrower  and  shot-putter,  43, 
49,  50,  94,  95,  97. 

McGrath,  Matt,  national 
champion  hammer-thrower, 
179. 

McLanahan,  W.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate pole-vaulter,  99. 

Mapes,  H.,  champion  intercol- 
legiate hurdler,  76,  81. 

Mapes,  Victor,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate broad  jumper, 
85. 

Marathon  race,  at  Olympic 
games  of  1896,  137-139. 

Maritime  Provinces,  champion- 
ships of  1895,  164. 

Marshall,  J.  W.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate high  jumper, 
91. 

Merrill,  S.  M.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate quarter-miler,  66, 
67. 

Mile  run,  national  champions 
at,  23,  172,  173 ;  intercollegi- 
ate champions,  73,  74,  75. 

Mile  walk,  intercollegiate 
champions,  82,  83. 

Mitchell,  James  S.,  national 
champion  weight-thrower,  24, 
165, 166, 168, 178. 


INDEX 


193 


Mitchell,  R.,  Yale  broad- 
jumper,  41,  42. 

Moffitt,  T.,  champion  intercol- 
legiate high  jumper,  91, 
175. 

Moore,  A.  T.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate shot-putter,  92. 

Morison,  G.  B.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate miler,  74. 

Morse,  James  E.,  instructs  me 
in  high  jump,  33-36 ;  and  in 
all-around  championship,  100. 

Morse,  W.  G.,  Harvard  high 
jumper  and  hurdler,  43, 49. 

Munson,  D.  C.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate miler,  74. 

Myers,  L.  E.,  champion  all- 
around  runner,  23,  24,  170, 
171. 

Nelson,  F.  T.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate pole-vaulter,  99. 

Nickerson,  A.,  national  cham- 
pion high  jumper,  23. 

O'Connor,  Peter,  the  great 
Irish  broad  jumper,  118,  119. 

Olympic  games  of  1896,  124- 
141. 

Orton,  George  W.,  national  and 
intercollegiate  champion  dis- 
tance mnner,  43,  49,  74,  165, 
166,  172. 

O'Sullivan,  M.,  national  all- 
around  champion,  104. 

Owen,  J.,  Jr.,  national  champion 
sprinter,  23,  170. 

Page,  W.  Byrd,  Jr.,  champion 
intercollegiate  high  jumper, 
88,  91,  175. 

Paine,  Charles  J.,  Jr.,  champion 


intercollegiate  tigh  jumper, 
12, 13,  14,  42,  89. 

Parsons,  C.  L.,  national  cham- 
pion sprinter,  170. 

Parsons,  E.  B.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate half-miler,  73. 

Paull,  W.  C.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate miler,  73,  74,  75, 
173. 

Pedestrians,  memories  of,  7, 8, 9. 

Pennypacker,  H.,  champion  in- 
collegiate  shot-putter,  92. 

Perkins,  E.  C.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate hurdler,  76,  81. 

Plaw,  A.,  champion  intercol- 
legiate hammer-thrower,  96, 
97, 179. 

Pole-vault,  H.  H.  Baxter  cham- 
pion at,  23;  intercollegiate 
champions,  98,  99. 

Porter,  F.  J.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate shot-putter,  95. 

Porter,  H.  F.,  national  cham- 
pion at  high  jump,  175. 

Potato  race,  I  make  record  at, 
29,  30. 

Powers,  J.  F.,  national  all- 
around  champion,  151,  154, 
162. 

Princeton  University,  sends  team 
to  Olympic  games  of  1896, 
125. 

Prinstein,  M.,  intercollegiate 
and  Olympic  champion  at 
broad  jump,  and  holder  of 
American  record,  87,  176. 

Pritchard,  R.  K.,  national 
champion  high  jumper,  23. 

Prize,  at  school,  15 ;  true  value 
of,  16, 17, 18 ;  of  what  it  should 
consist,  19,  20,  21,  22;  at 
Olympic  games,  140. 


194 


INDEX 


Pryor,  J.  W.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate pole-vaulter,  98. 

Puffer,  F.  C.,  national  cham- 
pion hurdler,  173. 

Putnam,  W.  E.,  Jr.,  Harvard 
high  jumper,  37,  38, 39,  42. 

Putting  the  shot,  school  record, 
10;  champions  at,  24,  176, 
177;  George  R.  Gray,  25, 176 ; 
Ralph  Rose,  26,  177;  inter- 
collegiate champions,  92-95. 

Quarter -mile  run,  national 
champions  at,  23,  170,  171; 
intercollegiate  champions,  65- 
71. 

Queckberner,  C.  A.  J.,  cham- 
pion weight-thrower,  24,  178. 

Ramsdell,  E.  S.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate sprinter,  54  ; 
champion  intercollegiate 

broad  jumper,  86. 

Ramsdell,  F.  L.,  "  Tex,"  cham- 
pion intercollegiate  sprinter, 
65. 

Rand,  W.  M.,  Harvard  hurdler, 
competitor  at  Olympic  games 
of  1908,  78. 

Reber,  C.  S.,  national  cham- 
pion at  broad  jump,  176. 

Remington,  J.  P.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate broad  jumper, 
43,  49,  87. 

Richards,  W.  M.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate sprinter,  54. 

Roberts,  E.  M.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate broad  jumper,  88. 

Roche,  J.  T.,  Harvard  sprinter, 
43,  48,  49. 

Rogers,  W.  B.,  national  cham- 
pion hurdler,  167,  168. 


Rose,  Ralph,  champion  shot- 
putter,  26, 177. 

Rowe,  F.  R.,  champion  intercol- 
legiate two-miler,  75. 

Running  broad  jump,  school 
record,  10;  national  cham- 
pions at,  23,  175,  176 ;  inter- 
collegiate champions,  83-88. 

Running  high  jump,  my  early 
efforts,  4,  5,  6;  I  win  at 
school,  14;  national  cham- 
pions at,  23,  174,  175 ;  I  win 
at  college,  27 ;  I  win  at  Cam- 
bridge, 40 ;  intercollegiate 
champions,  88-91. 

Ryder,  E.  D.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate pole-vaulter,  98. 

Sayer,  L.,  champion  intercol- 
legiate quarter-miler,  66. 

Schick,  W.  A.,  Jr.,  champion 
intercollegiate  sprinter,  65. 

School,  athletic  sports  at,  10. 

Schoenfuss,  F.  H.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate shot-putter,  95. 

Schutt,  W.  E.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate two-miler,  75. 

Sears,  F.  M.,  national  champion 
sprinter,  170. 

Shattuck,  G.  B.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate quarter-miler,  66- 

Shaw,  A.  B.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate hurdler,  77,  78, 173. 

Shaw,  Godfrey,  English  hurd- 
ler, 77,  166,  169. 

Shearman,  T.  G.,  Jr.,  champion 
intercollegiate  broad  jumper 
and  pole-vaulter,  85. 

Sheldon,  L.  P.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate broad  jumper,  41, 
42,  81,  86;  national  all- 
around  champion,  87,  143. 


INDEX 


195 


Sheldon,  R.,  champion  intercol- 
legiate shot-putter,  94, 95, 177. 

Sheppard,  M.  W.,  national  and 
Olympic  champion  at  half- 
mile,  171,  172. 

Sheridan,  Martin,  national  all- 
around  champion,  58,  78,  79, 
80,  158, 159,  161, 162. 

Sherrill,  C.  H.,  national  and  inter- 
collegiate champion  sprinter, 
23,  53,  170. 

Sherwin,  T.  E.,  Harvard  high 
jumper,  37,  39. 

Shot,  see  Putting  the  Shot. 

Simons,  L.  W.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate broad  jumper,  88. 

Six  day  go-as-you-please,  7,8, 9. 

Sixteen-pound  hammer,  see 
Throwing  the  Hammer. 

Sixteen-pound  shot,  see  Putting 
the  Shot. 

Smithson,  Forrest  C.,  Olympic 
champion,  1908,  at  high  hur- 
dles, 78,  173, 174. 

Soren,  W.,  champion  intercolle- 
giate jumper  and  pole-vaulter, 
84,  85,  88. 

Sprinting,  national  champions 
at,  23,  170. 

Stage,  C.  W.,  national  champion 
sprinter,  168,  170. 

Standing  broad  jump,  school 
record,  10. 

Standing  high  jump,  school 
record,  10. 

Stangland,  R.  S.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate broad  jumper, 
88. 

Stephenson,  B.  T.,  champion 
intercollegiate  shot-putter,  95, 

Stevens,  A.,  champion  intercol- 
legiate pole-vaulter,  98. 


Stiekney,  A.,  Jr.,  Harvard  broad 
jumper,  41,  42. 

Stingel,  P.  C.,  New  England 
champion  at  high  jump,  174, 
175. 

Sullivan,  J.  P.,  national  cham- 
pion at  mile  run,  173. 

Sullivan,  the  pedestrian,  8. 

Swayne,  W.,  Jr.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate sprinter,  54. 

Sweeney,  M.  F.,  champion  and 
record  holder  at  running  high 
jump,  165,  166, 174, 175. 

Talbot,  L.  J.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate hammer  -  thrower, 
98,  179. 

Taylor,  J.  B.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate quarter-miler,  70, 
71,  170. 

Taylor,  P.  J.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate miler  and  two-miler, 
75. 

Taylor,  the  pedestrian,  9. 

Tewksbury,  J.  W.  B.,  champion 
intercollegiate  sprinter,  57 . 

Thompson,  F.  C.,  national  all- 
around  champion,  162. 

Thompson,  J.  H.,  Yale  high 
jumper,  42. 

Thompson,  W.  R.,  national  all- 
around  champion,  103,  104. 

Thrall,  F.  C.,  champion  rater- 
collegiate  walker,  82,  83. 

Throwing  the  hammer,  national 
champions  at,  24,  178,  179; 
James  S.  Mitchell,  25 ;  John 
Flanagan,  26;  I  break  Har- 
vard record,  41 ;  intercolle- 
giate champions,  95-98. 

Throwing  fifty  -  six  pound 
weight,  James  S.  Mitchell, 


196 


INDEX 


champion  at,  25 ;  John  Flana- 
gan, champion  at,  26. 

Toler,  H.  P.,  champion  intercol- 
legiate pole-vaulter,  98. 

Trube,  H.  L.,  national  cham- 
pion at  mile  run,  173. 

Tug-of-war,  4. 

Turner,  T.  B.,  intercollegiate  and 
national  champion  at  half- 
mile,  72,  171. 

Two -mile  run,  intercollegiate 
champions,  75. 

Two-twenty  yards  dash,  na- 
tional champions  at,  23,  170 ; 
intercollegiate  champions,  53— 
65. 

Tyler,  A.  C.,  member  of  Prince- 
ton Olympic  team  of  1896, 
125,  138. 

University  of  Pennsylvania,  dual 
games  with  Harvard,  43-51. 

Vincent,  W.  H.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate quarter-nailer,  49, 


Waller,  F.,  national  champion 
quarter-miler,  170. 

Walsh,  P.  J.,  national  cham- 
pion sprinter,  170. 

Webster,  I.  D.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate high  jumper,  89. 

Wefers,  B.  J.,  champion  inter- 


collegiate sprinter,  56 ;  na- 
tional and  international  cham- 
pion, 57,  165,  169,  170. 

Wells,  C.  0.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate miler,  74. 

Wells,  S.  G.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate quarter-miler,  66. 

Wendell,  Evart,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate runner,  53. 

Westing,  F.,  national  champion 
sprinter,  23,  170. 

White,  E.  C.,  national  all- 
around  champion,  151,  152. 

Whitely,  G.  H.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate half-miler,  73. 

Williams,  H.  L.,  Harvard  hur- 
dler, 47. 

Williams,  H.  L.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate hurdler,  76,  81. 

Willis,  J.  G.,  champion  intercol- 
legiate hurdler,  81,  82. 

Winsor,  J.  D.,  Jr.,  champion 
intercollegiate  high  jumper* 
43,  49,  89,  91,  175. 

Woodruff,  W.  G.,  champion  in- 
tercollegiate hammer-thrower, 
43,  49,  50,  95,  97. 

Wright,  W.  B.,  Jr.,  champion 
intercollegiate  half-miler,  72. 

Wright,  W.  H.,  champion  inter- 
collegiate quarter-miler,  66. 

Yale  University,  dual  games 
with  Harvard,  41,  42. 


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